


Paracosm

by lukemichael_archive



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Boston Luke, College, Coming of Age, Dysautonomia, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Luke is really eccentric, M/M, Mashlum are best friends, Michael is a punk ass bitch like he always is, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Rimming, Road Trips, Summer Vacation, bc i was enabled, cliche gross teen indie romance shit, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS) to be specific, pots symptoms, this isn't a fantasy story despite how the summary makes it sound???, triggers will be mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukemichael_archive/pseuds/lukemichael_archive
Summary: paracosm: a detailed imaginary world created inside one’s mind, often in childhood, that may involve humans, animals, and things that exist in reality; or it may also contain entities that are entirely imaginary, alien, and otherworldly.
 Michael has an unusually high heart rate and Luke has an affinity for wearing overalls and cutting his own hair.





	1. That's Why, Nobody Gets Me

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay I just want to say that I edited this but I didn't deeply edit it so please forgive and ignore any mistakes and it's not that exciting but it covers a lot of important shit.
> 
> Before this fic officially begins I just wanna thank [Carly](http://mikeykink.tumblr.com) for giving me that extra shove so that I could finally start writing this damn thing an taking the time to show me how to write a decent fic. I also wouldn’t have been able to do this without having help in learning more about postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (which is what Mikey has in this fic) so a HUGE ASS thank you to the people who gave me that needed info. POTS isn't completely described in this chapter! So if you're confused it's all good! It will be fully explained soon.
> 
> Chapters won't be a consistent word count every time, triggers will be mentioned in the notes before a chapter, this story takes place somewhere in the United States mostly because I needed it to be hot during the summer and I'm familiar with the school system here so YEAH. Luke is 16 and a junior, Michael is 17 and a senior because he skipped one grade and Calum and Ash are 18 and seniors. (That's what the underage tag is for but nothing will happen until Luke is 17 but still, it's two 17 year olds)
> 
> The title is from Paracosm by washed out BUT the title of this chapter is from Fallout by Catfish and the Bottlemen, which is Michael's Official Song throughout this fic. (a spotify playlist will come out soon)
> 
> I hope this okay yikesyikesyieksykes ok i love u thank you.

Michael’s alarm went off an hour before a typical high school students would on a Friday morning, the fuzzy garage-band punk blasting through the shitty speakers on his bedside table wasn’t necessary. He was already awake, he had been listening to the steady rain outside the window above his bed for an hour now.

He could have blamed lack of sleep on the incessant dripping on the glass or the rattling of his mom’s windchimes on his front porch. He could have not downed a whole can of cola before bed last night or had Calum drop him off earlier than ten after their trip to the pizzeria so that he had time to practice a proper night time routine. Michael had reasons why sleeping seemed impossible, they were valid two years ago, good solid excuses to shamefully tell his mom when she asked why he had big purple bags under his eyes and looked like the grim reaper in his black hoodie.

There wasn’t any reason to swerve around the reality of why insomnia had become the bigger villain of his life now.  

A warm breeze rolled through his window and made his hair flutter against his forehead. It felt good, it almost made him _want_ to get up with what little motivation it served, but the pain he felt in his limbs had a way of strong-arming motivation. He glanced at the blinking red numbers on his clock and weakly pressed a small button on top. The music stopped, but it wasn’t completely silent. His hard, slow heartbeat pounding in his chest was always there to fill gaps of noiseless situations.

Michael tried to steady it himself, breathing deeply as he peeled the warm blankets off his overheated body and blindly reached for his mandatory morning bottle of water. He fumbled with it a bit and groaned once he pressed it to his flushed cheek, the cool plastic soothed the skin he could probably bake cookies on if he was able to test the theory. All he could do was wait until sitting up didn’t sound so impossible and then discard the sweater he so stupidly forgot to take off before passing out yesterday. His body temperature was screaming and his legs and hands were pink in the dull morning light that came through the curtains. Michael poked his thigh gently, the pink turned white under his finger and slowly bloomed with color once more when he removed it.

Michael heard the sound of dishes and pans downstairs, his parents were bustling with breakfast and chatting loudly, more excited than usual. That might have something to do with the fact that today was his last day of high school and when his mom Karen was antsy about something she was especially revved up and talkative and tended to drop dishes more often.

“Oh!” Michael heard her cry out after the sound of glass shattering on tile rang through the house. “I’m okay! I’m okay.”

He smiled a bit to himself and blinked the sleep from his tired eyes, then gazed around his room in order to help himself wake up a bit, trying to make out shapes as opposed to letting his headache mandate his vision, the hummingbirds in his skull made it hard to focus. He read the posters on his wall,  looked at the shadows of the blinds and the big calendar beside his door that was madly scribbled on one particular square with sharpie courtesy of Ashton, today. Today was very sharpie-scribble worthy.

He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt oncoming chest cramps that were similar to be stabbed repeatedly. Michael tried to unclench his muscles as best he could and rotated his hips till he was flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.

His eyes roamed for a bit in the effort to distract himself until they found a red triangular college flag tacked on the wall beside his McFly poster that was a feat to hang up. The white classic logo on the flag read the word _Clairmont_ with a small tail on the T and the beloved Indy the Lion stood beside the C, standing proud at a cliff’s edge with his mouth open wide and teeth baring, his orange mane blowing back in the implied wind. Michael felt something funny in his belly whenever he looked at his future-college fan gear, and it wasn’t his gastrointestinal issues.

He guessed it was the reality that high school was done now. It was _officially_ at two in the afternoon today but even earlier for him because he only stopped by for one class before heading home, staying a full day would be impossible, his body would refuse to.

Michael was genuinely amazed that he pulled excellent grades and even a few outstanding achievements to be able to earn a great transcript and get accepted to the school of his dreams, the school his best friend’s got accepted into as well, the one they’d all been planning their lives around since elementary, and the one that’s located in the state next door where Michael would live in a dorm with a roommate all by himself, no one to assist him with his _problem_ besides Calum and Ashton and maybe the roomie if he was nice enough.

He frowned a little, eyes flicking to the cork board near the calendar that was littered in medical papers, general reminders, do’s and dont’s of POTS, big bold black letters across the top of an information sheet that read the same words he struggled with both remembering and pronouncing two years ago when he was first diagnosed. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, and a novel was written beneath it in small font, and beside that was a neon green flyer for kids with dysautonomia illnesses to participate in camp-like activities in the woods outside Hodge park this summer. That was something his mom had put up, wordlessly entering his room while he was busy running from cops in Grand Theft Auto with Calum, when Michael protested she adamantly told him there was no way out of it, he was going. Calum had laughed. _“S’long as you can make it to my banquet at the end of summer bro, have fun making friendship bracelets and talking about your feelings beside a synthetic fire since a real one would give you heat stroke.”_

Michael smiled dryly thinking of the humiliation he would have to endure this summer and wiggled his way up his self-cooling pillow, waiting for the tide to lower in his ears and the surfers stomping all over his brain to get their boards and go home.

He needed to sit up, no matter how badly he felt like remaining put an allowing his skin fuse with the fibers of the mattress, his transparent pill organizer on the table would continue mocking him until he downed his morning round.

_Breathe deeply._

_Unclench._

_Ignore the throbbing ache in the back of your neck, down your spine, and around your ribs._

Michael propped an elbow up behind him and bit his lip, pushing his weight up in an ungraceful fashion until his palm took his elbow’s place. He ignored everything in his body that was screaming at him to lay back down, pull the blanket over his head, and let his headache lull him back to sleep and forget about seeing Calum’s last day of school prank where he runs around the halls spraying easy cheese in nothing but a speedo.

But that would have meant missing out on getting a multitude of great high res pics and using them as blackmail five years down the road when Calum regrets everything he’d ever done in high school. That made the early morning pain installment worth it.

Michael fully sat up with a grunt and felt the outside wind cool down the sweaty matted hair on the back of his head. “Well fuck me.” He breathed. Today was off to a decent start, at least 3 quarters of the the time he’d wake up to his symptoms fucking up hard up the ass, but this morning the spirits in the sky decided not to shit on him as much and gave him a sprinkle of angina and a monster headache.

He could handle it though.

Michael uncapped his water bottle and pressed it to his lips, he got almost all of it down in a couple gulps and saved the last of it for his pills which were quickly dumped into his hand and down his throat in a second or two despite how bad he was shaking.

Now he had to wait a bit longer until the idea of standing seemed like a decent one. At this point in his morning expedition Michael liked to sneak in a couple games of Candy Crush while his insides figured themselves out and his mom worried if he was awake yet or not. Michael was extremely guilty of pretending not to hear The Murder City Devils screaming through the tiny clock speakers and sleeping in on the days he was supposed to attend class, no one blamed him though. Pots is an energy and enthusiasm klepto and his batman sheets were out-of-this-world soft.

In the midst of grabbing his phone and turning the brightness down he heard his dad, whom he knew was aching to come up and help Michael out but a few weeks ago he insisted his parents stop so that he could practice having a bit of independence. When he was in college sleeping in the Elingston Music Hall he would be absolutely piss-your-pants mortified if he had to ask his roommate for help standing up or giving him a piggyback ride to the toilets. As a seventeen year old Michael should have some familiarity with handling things by himself.

“Aye Mike!” He called in his booming voice that was slightly muffled through the walls. “Throw something at the door if you’re awake!”

His dad was well aware yelling wasn’t Michael’s forte, even talking too loud sucked all the oxygen of him with the snap of his fingers and left him propped up against a wall breathing as if he just did twenty jumping jacks straight.

Michael looked around for something that wouldn’t bust through the wood before picking up an old playboy magazine in his bed side drawer and chucked it as best as his strength would allow him, hearing it hit the door with a _thwack._

“Thanks buddy! Morning!”

Michael snorted and thumbed through his phone, ignoring the pool of unread texts that he was 99% sure were all from his two best friends.

 

After passing ten levels of Candy Crush Michael was tired of sitting, his legs hurt and he had to force himself to eat soon or he’d feel even worse later, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and placed his feet flat on the carpet, hyping himself up for arguably the hardest part of his day.

“I can do this.” Michael mumbled and grabbed the bedpost. “No pain no game.”

When he pulled himself up his arm had nearly given out, his legs wobbled a bit as he concentrated on steadying himself and ignored the head rush and increased heart beat that rattled his entire body. Standing was like getting hit on the head with a mallet in cartoons, little birds fluttered around the crown of his head as he stumbled towards his dresser and panted once he leaned his hip against it. “Okay, next step.”

Sometimes he liked to pretend he had his life together in the mornings, his wake up routine was a piece of cake and now all he had to do was get dressed eat a donut and kiss his wife goodbye. In reality he wished the floor would swallow him whole, and his telekinesis attempts worked so his shirt would slip itself into his body so he wouldn’t have to risk fainting.

He pulled his drawer open with a trembling hand and rifled through the mostly black t-shirts, looking for something sleeveless albeit it was difficult because Michael was a winter person, even with his body temperature malfunctions he still tried to convince his mom that heat stroke was a myth and long sleeves made him feel more comfortable in ninety degree weather.

Michael wasn’t up for a fight today though, he found a sleeveless Rolling Stones shirt with a red tongue on the front that matched the color of his skin and tossed it onto his mattress, and a bit later a pair of blacks skinny jeans joined it.

He tugged his sweater off clumsily making sure he didn’t have his arms above his head for too long, because cutting off any more circulation and holding their weight in the air wasn’t a wise decision. Michael sat at his computer chair in front of his fan for a few minutes, taking a small break and then preparing himself for getting dressed.

Slipping on his shirt made stars dance in his eyes and pulling on tight jeans seemed like it took forty five minutes. He let go of the waistband at one point and contemplated going downstairs with his pants around his thighs, he’d have to convince his mom he was trying to set a new trend.

Michael crammed his feet in his high tops and did everything in his power to get them on without using his hands before grabbing his bag and walking out.

He slipped into bathroom, pissed, and rinsed his hands before taking a deep breath and styling his pink hair into soft spikes, stylistically messy like he liked it. It was a pain in the ass doing it because nine times out of ten he had to take yet _another_ break halfway through and endure a seven minute recovery period before finishing. It’d be quite funny if someone walked in on him, witnessing him slouch on the toilet panting while one side of his hair was up and the other was flat.

Today he did it rather quickly and haphazardly, he tried not to faint and break his nose against the sink and it turned out decent enough, or it might have just seemed decent enough because he wanted to sit so bad.

After he rested for a bit he stood up once more, his limbs wobbly and sparks going off in front his eyes as per usual.

He exited and approached the staircase with caution, mostly because he was a clutz and at any given moment he was perfectly capable of shattering every bone in his body, more capable than the average person. “Dad!” Michael called out.

His dad rushed to the bottom of the stairs as a spotter, because yes, it was necessary, while Michael slowly walked down the steps and kept his hand on the railing. At least he wasn’t going _up_ them, that was a nightmare on its own.

The older man gave him that proud smile that Michael hated and grabbed his hand when he reached the bottom, everyone always gave him that patronizing expression when he accomplished small tasks and it drove him crazy. “Hey graduate.” His dad chuckled.

“Not a graduate yet.” Michael rolled his eyes and walked toward the kitchen. “Not for another week, there’s still time for them to tell me my homebound progress wasn’t enough and giving me all my credits was a joke.” He chided.

“Nonsense.” His mom huffed and glanced over her shoulder at her purple haired son after a she flipped a pancake. “You did excellent here at home, better than most of your peers who went into class and they’re graduating right beside you. Honey you even _skipped_ a grade you were so ahead.”

Michael set his bag on the kitchen island and slid onto a stool. “The world is generally against me, I wouldn’t be shocked if they told me that them letting me skip a grade was a bad idea and that surprise! I’m still a junior. You know I’m convinced the school board are a bunch of ableists.” He muttered and grabbed a grape from the fruit basket in front of him and chewed on it, reminiscing about all the times the district office screwed him over ever since he took leave from school and made the deal that he'd come in for one class a day, three days a week, and the rest was done in his living room.

“Don’t say that.” Karen scolded. “Julie is on the school board, she’s the one who pulled some strings for you and let you do all your work from home.”

Michael shrugged at the mention the kind brunette woman who helped him deal with having a syndrome and trying to stay in school at the same time, which had been more difficult than Michael could have even assumed back in the day when he was healthy. “Julie is cool is guess.”

“Julie is _a blessing._ ” She corrected. “Remind me to buy ribbon for that gift basket I made for her I still need to tie it.” She waved a spatula at him and put milk back in the fridge. “Now, how are you feeling?”

Michael glanced up to see her turn and stare intently at him with eyes that match his own. “Pain level? Do you feel sick? Did you take your meds? How was getting up this morning…”

He answered the questions without thinking, as if he already had them waiting on the tip of his tongue, because he did, because she asked the same things every single day. “I have the regular amount of pain and nausea, yes, and it was fine, I didn’t get my shirt caught on my earring again and nearly pass out if that’s what you’re asking.” He let a short exhale out of his nose, not quite a laugh.

Karen puts her hands up in defense. “I was simply asking my son how his morning went, and I still encourage you to switch the hoops for studs, that’s all I’m getting at.” She waved her hands and began putting items back where they once were.

“Leave my fashion choices alone it’s bad enough I have to blind everyone with my pasty arms while wearing these tank tops.” Michael argued.

His dad appeared beside him a moment later and grabbed his wrist to fasten his heart rate monitor watch around it. “You’re wearing this today.” He insisted. “It’s a school day, even if it’s the last one I want you to be conscious of your heart rate and you can take it off when you’re home.”

“Okay, I guess.”

“You sure you feel well enough to go?”

“Of course I do.” Michael nodded absently and messed with the watch. “I’m not missing today.”

His dad smiled and pet his hair. “Wouldn’t expect you too.”

If anyone knew how hard Michael had worked to get to the point he was at it was his dad. Michael remembered when he was first diagnosed his sophomore year, he had already felt like shit when it came to getting up every morning and attempting to face the day, it had been like that since middle school. He meant no offense towards his mom but his dad _knew_ Michael’s constant exhaustion and never-ending mononucleosis symptoms had to be something more than anxiety and stress related issues like his mom originally thought. His dad drove him to appointments all over state, determined to figure out why Michael felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest when he moved too quickly and why he was fainting three times a week. Things were continuously ruled out, malnutrition, anemia, diabetes, anything that pots is constantly mistaken for is what he was deemed to have but Michael knew all these treatments and medications and questions they were asking and things they examined were not helping in the slightest. His dad knew, reading Michael’s tired emotionless face in the fluorescent lighting of the doctors room, when something wasn’t right. It was his dad who watched him take pill after pill in hopes that it would do something for him only to rub his back and let Michael cry in frustration into his shoulder the moment he knew that they got it wrong, again, until eventually they got it right.

After Michael’s mom talked to Julie and he was officially set up to complete school at home, his dad would watch him struggle with things he inevitably fell behind on, scribbling random answers and tearing his hair out when he knew things weren’t going how they were supposed to, wishing he were healthy so that he could attend class, see words written on the board, raise his hand and ask a question, flick Ashton’s forehead when he fall asleep on the desk next to him, ace his homework and exams because he was regular kid at school in the flesh and not hearing about lessons second hand and scrambling to understand concepts that were beyond his cluttered brain.

His dad had seen him through self loathing phases that still come and go, he’s seen his face light up like a Christmas tree when he was told he was actually beyond ahead in his subjects and if he wanted to take a couple junior courses his sophomore year and then skip to senior year afterward he was allotted. He’s seen him laugh hysterically when he called Calum and Ashton, who were a year above him, and told him he would join them as twelfth graders next year and graduate alongside them and the three boys flipped their shit over the phone and Michael nearly fainted from all the energy exertion.

His dad was around when Michael told him he was giving it all up while he had a particularly bad month in the beginning of this year, doctors appointments every week that involved physical activities that sent his health and will power plummeting. His symptoms seemed to be inflamed and never ending, a lost cause. He didn’t sleep a wink for days at a time, school was getting even more difficult and unforgiving and the pressure of getting into Clairmont was at an all time high. Michael had permanent migraines that increased in pain when he remembered how he hadn’t seen Calum and Ashton in weeks. His finish line was in sight but there were too many obstacles to overcome to consider it a home stretch. While his mom worked two jobs and helped keep the house and his treatment going, which Michael was eternally grateful for, his Dad was right there beside him, encouraging him, telling him it was alright when he cried about how he didn’t want to go to class that day, helping him treat his illness even on the days where Michael was particularly fussy, defiant, and in a deep amount of pain, giving him long winded speeches about how Michael came into this world a kicking and screaming fighter and will continue to be one, even in the toughest moment of his life thus far.

Michael did, and it was like going against the current, walking into the wind of a storm and making it out the other side with cuts and bruises and undeniable strength that he hadn’t possessed before, or even dreamed of possessing. Now he was here, absently chewing on a soft grape while his mom placed a mug full of chicken broth and a cup of applesauce in front of him. This was the light at the end of the tunnel, he guessed.

Michael made a face at his breakfast. “It’s my last day can’t I at least have one strip of bacon?”

Karen tisked and handed him a piece which Michael happily plucked from her fingers and crunched on until it was time to drink the broth, which he really didn’t mind, the thought of eating pancakes made him want to vomit the contents of his empty stomach and broth put a good amount of salt in his system, which he needed if he wanted to absorb as much water in his body as he could, having pots meant consuming more salt and water than he could possibly imagine, since his body had an extremely difficult time obtaining it. He ate a couple big scoops of applesauce and grabbed the blue squeezy water bottle waiting for him on the counter and sipped on it, letting the mouth piece suction against his tongue.

It had been a bit since he felt his phone vibrate which was a bit odd so decided to text Calum back and ask him if he’s driving to his place yet, he promised he’d be on time this time around, they pinkie swore and kissed knuckles.

He navigated through his phone and scrolled past Calum’s lengthy monologues in all caps, over usage of sexually suggestive emoijs and ugly seflies before he read the most recent text.

_‘wait, are u not answering because yur dead?!! Fuck man you said your shit wasn’t fatal!!!’_

Michael sighed and typed out a reply.

_‘i wish it was fatal, but i’m not so lucky’_

In less than a minute his phone lit up.

_‘don’t joke around like that. If u die all i have is ashton, man. cock block, show tune singing, fruit cake lover ashton. dude irons his briefs and thats just not right’_

_‘you love ash’_

_‘ gross... hardly. I’m picking you up yeah?’_

_‘yeah idiot. u haven’t even left yet?? Ur telling me we cant even make it on time on the last fuckn day?’_

_‘i wasnt sure if youre mom changed her mind about letting me pick you up! she nearly built a pool and filled it with sharks and made me walk the plank when you told her you didnt want her to drop you off’_

_‘quit exaggerating and pick up some potato chips on the way here asshat, also bring my gayass mixtape i made you i wanna listen to it in the car’_

_‘sure sure, love that tape, i fucked my ass to it several times before its a masterpiece. You feelin okay?’_

Michael smiled down at his phone, ignoring his love for anal fingering jokes and how he used them to muddle the seriousness of his concern. Though his friends treated him normally, more so than anyone in his life, they always found ways to sneak in hints of worry of compassion. When Michael got particularly bad Calum would be by his side in a second, nearly carrying him into the car and driving twenty above speed limit to get him home, no matter where they were or how much fun Calum was having, none of it mattered when Michael needed to leave, which was often. He wouldn’t know what he’d be without the two of them, the ones who stuck around when Michael could no longer attend ragers and sneak out tag walls with spray paint or watch his friends try to break their legs at the skate park. He was always a slow kid, but after his diagnosis things inevitably all went to shit, he soon found out who was willing to put up with his constant plan cancellations and his idea of a fun night which consisted of inviting people to sit on his couch with him while he tried not to vomit. In those respects, dysautonomia did him a favor.  

 _‘better than most days’_ He typed.

_‘Good :) ready for the first day of the rest of your life?’_

_‘hell no’_

_‘perfect. c you soon cliffy x’_

_‘dont forget your speedo’_

_‘already wearing it, kinda like the way it hugs my nuts’_

Michael grinned and bit back a laugh. He pocketed his phone as his mom finished up the dishes and bustled towards her purse. “He’s coming yes?”

“Yes mom.”

“Because if he doesn’t show up in time I’m gonna have to drop you off, you know that right.”

Michael saw right through her, she looked prepared to convince him he was too ill to go today if it meant Calum wouldn’t get to take him. He sighed deeply and slid off the plastic stool, placed his feet on the hardwood, and slowly walked toward the couch in the livingroom where his dad prepared of a smorgage board of things a pots patient actually _leaving_ their house would need, even if only for an hour and a half.

“Uh pills, salt tablets, water water and more water. Hun does he need his cooling vest?”

“Absolutely not!” She clicked across the floor from behind them. “It’s raining outside, he needs a raincoat.”

“It’s warm rain.” Michael pointed out. His dad skipped behind him and unzipped his bag to start stuffing his conversations starters inside, if someone were to ask him why his bag was so bulky.

“Rain is wet and wind exists and you will put on a raincoat, and, Daryl! Hand warmers!”

His dad glanced up in alarm and exited the room to find them. “None of this...is necessary.” Michael pleaded. “It’s like seventy five degrees out and you’re gonna make me shove hand warmers in my pockets because a warm breeze rolls past.”

She gave him a pointed look, the same look she always gave him when he was being a smart mouth brat, and lanced behind him out the large window as if she could determine the temperature by staring through the glass. Then again, mom’s had their ways. “You don’t have to use them, you’re bringing them just in case.” She decided. “But…” She clicked her way to the coat rack near the door. “The raincoat isn’t up for argument, if you’re too hot put it in your bag.”

He could deal with a coat, he learned to deal with a lot of things, his entire life was about compromising and doing things he most definitely didn’t want to do but now does every single day of his young life. Michael grabbed the coat from her hands and slipped it on, then secured his backpack. His dad arrived with just-in-case handwarmers and put them in the bag as well, giving it a pat as if to say ‘ready to go.’

“Okay so, coat, snacks, water bottle which you _will_ refill.” Karen pointed an acrylic fingernail at him. “Warming devices, oh! Compression socks.”

“Already have them in my bag.” Michael said, lulling his head to the side lazily. “I won’t need them. I’ll be back in the time it takes to watch a movie, mom, I’m alright.”

He hated compression socks, they were hardly a fashion statement and though they were necessary to prevent blood pooling in his legs, they were insanely uncomfortable and were more trouble on a hot spring day then they were worth.

“Alright, but you’ve vomited and fainted multiple times when going to school for that amount of time in the past, not to mention that one nasty anxiety-”

“I get it.” He rubbed his face and massaged his eyes to coax the memories back into the file cabinet in his brain where they belonged, just thinking about them made panic bubble in his chest like his mom’s rancid stew that she made when his cousin’s came over, and like the stew he had to swallow it down and let it simmer in his stomach, resisting the urge to run to the bathroom and hurl in the toilet. “I have everything, my phone, my watch.”

“Heart rate?” His dad asked, as he always did.

Michael moved the sleeve of his raincoat up and glanced at the red number that was rising and falling but not straying too far one way or the other. “One thirty-nine.” He decided.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, better than most days.” He answered truthfully, his tone softened a bit as if he were hesitant to believe himself. Michael was so used to having bad days, days where he can’t even lift himself out of bed to use the bathroom. His dad even had to buy a wheelchair from the Good Will for those _really_ bad days where his legs were in excruciating pain and he could do nothing but lay in bed and sob helplessly. Today was good, general pains he could live with, that was apart of him now.

For the first time that morning, Karen smiled. It was pleasant to see because her worry lines and the overall stress of having a son with syndrome jam packed with unpredictable symptoms and having to work a few jobs at a time aged her, it made her eyes dull down a bit and her dark circles were almost as bad as Michael’s. Virtually ruining his mom’s life was another thought Michael wanted to file away in his brain and never think about again, even though the thought was very much recurring, every single time he looked at her and acknowledged how worn down she's’ become in only two years. It makes Michael ache, it brings him to an all time low he couldn’t possibly describe.

He bit his lip, harsh and unforgiving until he tasted the slightest bit of blood on his tongue. She pulled him in for a tight hug, despite the fact that he didn’t deserve one, and rubbed his back comfortingly, the vinyl of the jacket made a noise under her palm as she lead her hand up to the nape of his neck and squeezed lightly, rubbing the sparse hair there. “My boy.” She mumbled into his shoulder. “We’re so proud of you you know that?”

Michael pressed his cheek against the cold metal of her earring and closed his eyes, inhaling her flowery perfume and willing himself to relax in her familiar embrace. There was nothing in this world like his mom’s hugs, they had a mystical healing power that ran all the way to through his weak bones, a way of making Michael’s self-reproach fade away for a bit. “I know.” He answered softly. “Thank you for getting me here.”

“You did all of it yourself, your dad and I were just there to catch you when you fell and then you were strong enough to stand back up and continue on. I knew you would be, even seeing you on your darkest days.” She smiled warmly and rubbed the back of his head, petting the cow licks there and leaving him with a lipgloss kiss on the cheek. “We love you Michael.”

His dad smiled from behind her shoulder and Michael smiled back though his cheeks were squished between his mom’s head and shoulder. “I love you both.” He said, and he never meant anything more than he did those words, he’ll never be able to fully repay them for what they’ve done for him. They were, for the most part, all he had and he was all they had in this small city they moved to when Michael was young, and their family of three meant the world to him, even if his mom was beyond the definition of a worry wart and his dad was her fully certified enabler and neither of them would allow him to adopt a cat which was his one true wish and will continue to be until he lay on his deathbed, he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“Well this is it.” She loosened her hold on him and stepped back. “Your last day, next week you graduate, then after that you’re going to camp everyday for a month and a half, I won’t see you until seven every night.” She pouted, as if she couldn’t get him out of that hell hole of a “camp” when they all knew for a fact she could.

“It’s more like a daycare than a camp. You’re dropping me off for a few hours a day so I can make macaroni art and eat pretzels and then go home.” He said bitterly and fixed his hair that had been previously flattened by his mom in their embrace. “That’s not what camping is, this is DYNA’s _worst_ idea they’ve ever come up with.” He huffed.

“Honey I don’t care if they make you hold hands and sing songs about the Lord himself while you’re all dressed in ugly knit sweaters with the youth network’s name on the front, you’re going. It’s positive, constructive, and you’ll finally be able to meet people who you can _properly_ relate to.” She emphasized the ‘new friends’ thing whenever she possibly could because although she loved Ashton and Calum, they were hyperactive nuisances who constantly put Michael in situations one with pots shouldn’t be in, but that’s what Michael loved most about them. Able bodied friends as opposed to fellow dysautonomia patients let Michael have fun and feel closer to how he used to be before pots became a huge weight on his scrawny shoulders.

Camp was going to be full of downers and counselors who would probably treat him like a dumb helpless baby and walk all the way to the bathroom and into the stall whenever he needed to piss, hell, they’d probably hold his dick for him too if he let them. This stupid camp was going to eat away his summer, the last summer he had before things took a sharp turn into college avenue where he’d spend the next four years kicking it with randoms and seeing Ash and Cal in the hallways and on weekends because no one shared a remotely similar schedule, Calum would be busy with soccer and Ashton would be with art. It’s where he’d struggle six hours from home taking care of himself and remembering all his meds and plethora of appointments with his team of _new_ doctors at a _new_ office in a _new_ city _._ Michael will be a full fledged adult attending uni without nagging parents prepping him before class and making him check things off a long list before leaving. The next time he blinks, it’ll be his first day, he’ll have to walk with a caregiver around campus to the few classes that he’s actually able to take without desperately needing to go back to his dorm to lay down and hold a small trash can to his chest. He’ll have to explain his illness over and over to nearly everyone he becomes semi-acquainted with so they don’t think he’s a royal asshole when the time comes for him to go back to his room, or when he canceled plans with them or always seemed like a Debby Downer when he _did_ go out solely becomes his symptoms are mother fuckerw with a big strap-on ready plow him lube-less whenever they want.

These are things he _could_ wait for because in no way was he looking forward to experiencing them in the place where things were already meant to be stressful enough with all the class work and students fees and socialization. This summer was supposed to be his grace period, his last hurrah, maybe even a summer to remember if he wanted to be cliche about it and push himself to do more things on his break. His mom ruined it all the day she hung that flier on his cluttered cork board and told him he had zero say in attending.

“You’re going.” She reiterated, and it sounded very final. Michael’s shoulders slumped when he truly realized there was nothing he could do, he was too weak and ill to run away or play hookie and convincing his mom to let him do or not do something was like pleading for the sky to turn green.

His dad gave him a small sympathetic smile and Michael frowned and looked down at his converse.

Not a moment after they heard the loud bass of a car stereo grow louder until it sounded as if it was right in front of their house. Michael glanced up and out the window through the rain streaks and sure enough, Calum’s old yellow Volvo was parked by the big tree, the window was rolled down and he was leaning out enough so that the rain dampened his dark curly hair that would inevitably frizz later and put him in a terrible mood, he was grinning wide and waving like a lunatic, yelling something that was most likely Michael’s name and some obscenities.

Michael found it easy lighten up, then. He returned Calum’s grin and chuckled softly, then raised a finger at him to tell him to hold on a moment. Calum gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and shook his hair like a dog before disappearing back inside the car.

Calum’s personality was a bit like a sudden burst of color, like if a person squeezed yellow paint into a glass of water and dyed it in a matter of seconds, that was a good representation of what the brown boy did for Michael. He was happy, gregarious and funny in times where Michael felt like he was submerged in stress and sadness and he was sinking towards the bottom of the depression pool. Calum always reached his hand out and pulled him up, he had been that person for him since they were eight years old and Michael loved him more than anyone could comprehend.

While Calum was the embodiment of gorgeous, warm, partly-cloudy day at your favorite beach with the best ice cream cone in the galaxy in your palm, Michael was much like today, rainy and humid with thick air that would cling to your lungs but you could never seem to get enough of before you ended up flat on your face due to shortness of breath.

Karen turned back towards Michael, tearing away from his self loathing thoughts. “Please make sure that boy doesn’t kill you today.” She pleaded, giving him last minute ‘I can still take you to school myself if you’d like’ hints. Michael rolled his eyes and gave her one last quick hug and did the same for his dad. “He’s harmless, he wears light wash jean shorts for christ’s sake... _but_ if killing me gets me out of camp I’ll _pay_ him to commit first degree manslaughter.” He stated simply and headed for the door before his mom could slap his shoulder and tell him that’s something he should never joke about for x y and z reasons, and that he should say x y and z things to help lower her blood pressure back down.

“Love you!” He called and spared a quick glance at the Clairmont University info sheets hanging up beside the key rack, he swallowed the feeling of fear and nerves that laced themselves together and formed inside his throat before touching the cold knob and turning back when his parents said they loved him.

Michael smiled weakly and exited the house, nearly tripped down the front steps and threw his hood over his hair, making a conscious effort not to slip on the slicked pathway leading towards the gate fence. The rain drops clung to his brightly colored bangs that hung in his eyes, they rolled off and dripped onto his nose as he made his way to the Volvo.

“Hey pinkie pie, looking absolutely fuckable this morning.” Calum called out the open window and smiled at the dorky coat Michael was bundled in.

“Hey honey bun.” Michael unlatched the gate. “I see you’re still going steady with your struggle-stash, how long have you two been together? Seven months?” Michael pointed to his own upper lip in reference to Calum’s virtually hairless one and smiled in satisfaction when Calum flipped him off.

A song Michael recognized flowed out the less than impressive speakers of Calum’s car, Calum bobbed his head and tapped the side of the rusted door along with the beat. “ _You see I, I was a test tube baby, that’s why nobody gets me”_ Calum obnoxiously sang along and wiggled happily in his seat as Michael rounded the car, crunching through fallen leaves on the pavement.

He glanced at several cars zooming past faster than he had time to make out the shape of the vehicle, some were also blasting music, a few were filled with people screaming and laughing, they all drove haphazardly and nearly rammed into his neighbor’s mailboxes. Michael blinked slowly after they caused gusts of wind and a bit of a mist to wash over him from the wet street.

They were fellow Ridgemont High students, he lived fairly close to the school and his peers were littered all over the neighborhood and typically drove like jackasses in the morning but today was different. Everyone was officially seven hours away from finishing a hundred and eighty day year that was one step above juvie. For the seniors, the end of today marked a new chapter and that authorized any careless behavior at this time because no one gave a fuck anymore, Michael knew, so he’d let the water that splashed up onto his jeans slide, just for today, because he didn’t give a fuck either. He kicked his feet to get the excess dripping water off his pants and cursed under his breath.

He sighed and pulled open the sticky handle to the passenger side door and slid into the car, engulfed by a Black Ice car freshener and a song that had to do with struggling to sleep at night because you were kept awake by the thoughts of your continuous fallouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading holy sHIT!! :D  
> Come scream at me on my [tumblr](http://lukemichael.tumblr.com), ask questions if you need to. I'll link a spotify playlist in the end notes soon enough. [Fic edit](http://lukemichael.tumblr.com/post/152412257836/paracosm-by-lukemichael-on-ao3-pairing-michael)


	2. Do You Wanna Come Over Later, To My House?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS SUCKS BYE but it's setting up exposition, please excuse errors 
> 
> title is from gum by moose blood, the second to last line of this chapter is also inspired by it??

“Is Mali back in town or something?” Michael asked as he pressed his palms against Calum’s dashboard when he made a sharp turn.

Calum had glanced at a text he got when they stopped at a red light and since then his driving skills had become even less than sub par than they normally were. They were most definitely going to die before they reached the school, and although death can be a comforting thought Michael didn’t want to spend his last seconds crammed in a tiny Volvo next to man wearing a speedo under his jorts who reeked of easy cheese for fucks sake.

Calum didn’t answer Michael’s question, but since he wasn’t chatting wildly about the scrambled eggs he had this morning Michael took it as a bad sign. “Talk it out don’t drive it out, the roads are slick and your tires as shit, I don’t wanna go out like this.”

Calum rolled his eyes and eased his foot off the gas a little. “Sorry, didn’t even realize how fast I was going.”

He parted ways with The Fast and the Furious and approached Driving Miss Daisy over the next few blocks, thank fucking god. Michael sighed and leaned back in his seat, settling with his bag pressed to his chest. “Just tell me what’s up, your sister home?”

Calum relaxed his shoulders and pulled into the long line of cars in the front of school once they reached it, everyone was extra frazzled today and Michael wouldn’t be surprised if someone got in a wreck or ran over a kid, he distinctly remembered the first day when an ambulance had to come by because someone in a Honda Civic ran over a sophomore’s foot, it was on the local news, but as far as he’s concerned the kid had it coming for that one time he cut Michael in the lunch line and took the last honey bun.

“Don’t get me wrong I love Mali, you know I do.” Calum started. “And I missed her like crazy, honestly, but shit, my mom rides my ass the _entire time_ she’s at the house, I’m not even her son anymore I’m the family slave and she’s a high status Roman Empress or some shit.”

He thought of the last few times Mali visited since starting college upstate, things always seemed to go the same for Calum, endless chores and responsibilities and standing at attention, waiting for the next order from his mom. It’s not what Mali insisted, it’s that she was the guest of honor coming back from an unimaginably stressful year at uni and Calum was a young spry chicken able to do tasks unlike his father who threw his back out a job site years ago and hasn’t been the same physically ever since, and his mom who was busy catching up with her only daughter and her lovely dick bag of a boyfriend, Rob. Calum fulfilled the most outrageous requests and exhausted himself in the process and Michael was always left on the couch, watching him with amusement but mostly sympathy.

“You know what my mom just texted me? Do you?” Calum leaned in and chuckled humorlessly. “To go buy forty-fucking-dollar salt water from Petco.”

“Salt water?”

“Yep. For Rob’s _fish tank_.”

Michael laughed through his tight chest and reminded himself not to have too much or he’d be hospitalized. “ _What?_ Should I even _ask_?”

“No, I’ll just _tell_ you.” A passive aggressive smile found its way to Calum’s face as he gripped the steering wheel. “You see my dear Clifford, Rob owns an exotic anemone that can only survive in the finest of salt water straight from the center of the Great Atlantic.” He began, sitting up straight like he was a posh father driving his sad, frail, purple-haired kid to school.

“And he _mustn't_ leave it on it’s own with a fish-sitter who has no clue how to properly care for it no matter how much grueling training he puts them through, they’ll just always be a _painfully tragic disappointment._ Too simple-minded to understand how to be a fully certified marine biologist you know?” Calum looked at him with an expression Michael knew Rob had made many times when he’s trying to be compassionate but ultimately coming off as the great grandchild of satan, he was brilliant at impersonating him but it always took a toll on Michael. “So not taking the seven hundred dollar anemone along with him _wasn’t_ an option _obviously_ and they trucked here with a giant-ass fish tank in the back, the thing kept in it’s own little bowl that Rob protectively held in his lap all the way here, it gets more attention than my sister, Mike, it’s no wonder he kisses the glass tank goodnight and not Mali.”

Michael snorted loudly through his nose imagining that dude, letting his khakis wrinkle for the purpose of getting on his knees and pressing his paper thin lips to the pristine glass and whispering sweet nothings to a fish. The guy was a royal ass but at least he took great pride in his hobbies.

“And oh! Silly him! Beloved Robbie forgot his extra supply of salt water back in the humble abode aka a lavish city apartment with clap-on lights, and told my mother with the most artificial look of remorse I’d ever laid eyes on Michael, fucking French 3-4 Madame Lasby’s new butt lift, artificial. And guess what?”

Michael noticed the line move up and opened his mouth to tell Calum to drive forward. “Cal-”

“No! No! I’ll tell you shut yourfuckingmouth I’m not even going to make you guess because it’s too _wild_ Mike!” He interrupted enthusiastically. Michael couldn’t help but grin and flop back against the headrest in defeat, he was too far gone and enjoying every minute of it.

“You’ll never see this coming and we’ll be sitting here for _hours_ if I let you try and guess what the outcome of all this was! Here, here! Try and guess” His brown eyes were wide and manic and his brows were raised to his hairline.

Michael wiped his watering eyes and was thankful it was because the pain he felt was a good kind, the kind you get when you have a sensitive nervous system but also a jackass of a friend. If Michael had just met Calum he would be terrified and not throwing his head back in laughter, but he didn’t just meet him, this had been Calum’s version of venting since they were in second grade, astonishing amounts of sarcasm and mockery, and feigning a cheesy children’s show level of shock as he threw his limbs around and complained about his woes.

“Did he-”

“NO! Not even close!” He burst, Michael was a bit loopy after that, giggling with an off inflection into his hoodie.

“Rob said if _I_ bought him his mother fucking salt water aka the armpit sweat of Virgin Mary herself so it seems, he would, get this, _pay me back_ !” Calum bounced in his seat and nearly hit his head on the roof of the Volvo. “Hear that Michael?! Pay me back! All forty dollars that I was saving up to buy myself a tux for my banquet at the end of the summer! You’ve heard about that right, I’m sure.” He pinched his eyebrows together and nodded aggressively and Michael nodded back. “But you know, I have the strangest feeling? Can’t quite fathom why I’m having this feeling I don’t know honestly, it came to me out of the blue, I’m almost guilty for thinking this but...I have the slightest suspicion that he’s _not_ going to pay me back!” He slammed his hands on the steering wheel, pretend-shocked by the words leaving his own mouth. “Weird right?! Considering he’s never paid not a _dime_ back to me for the hundreds I’ve given him since we met when I was fucking fourteen years old!”

Michael held his belly to try and anchor himself with how high his head was floating from the incessant laughter, and just then a student volunteer parking lot monitor knocked on the hood of the car and caught both boy’s attention. They glanced over carelessly, cheeks still pink. The guy with the neon green vest told Calum to pull up because there was a huge gap in front of them they could fill, he leaned out his open window and started yelling. “I’m telling a fucking story Gleason can you wait six seconds before you get your jock strap in a wad!”

Gleason’s expression dropped and he flipped Calum off before walking away and Calum chuckled and dipped back into the car.

“Wait?” Michael giggled. “Gleason plays sports?”

“No.” Calum scoffed and pulled forward. “He wears a cup at his chess tournaments because a chick on the rival team chucked a bishop piece at his nuts when she lost to him, so hard apparently he went to the hospital and now he won’t play a tournament without protection.

Calum grinned back at Michael and sighed relishing in the head rush he gave himself from his rise in blood pressure. “So, yeah. That’s why the sudden mood swing.”

Michael sunk down in his seat and groaned at the belly ache he gave himself, as yelling and loud singing are prohibited from Michael’s life, as is prolonged laughter, but he ignored that advisement of course. “Jesus Calum you caused a hole to open in my stomach, I feel like I’ve been shot.”

Calum reached out to pet his hair in apology and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Sorry kid.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“S’pose now isn’t the best time to tell you I’m forcing you to come to Mali’s welcome home party after school with me and Ash.”

Michael closed his eyes and keened under Calum’s warm hand, not even surprised by the forced-invitation. “Mmmkay, I guess. Not gonna be very lively though.” He admitted.

He knew it was alright, he’s known the Hood family forever and even Rob had enough human decency to understand and be sensitive towards Michael’s condition, they were all good people, a second family, he was more than welcome to laze around on the couch when standing and socializing became too much. He turned in early to go pass out in Calum’s bed whenever he wanted and they were fine with it. He even preferred it there than his own house sometimes, no one nagged him and hovered like a helicopter searching for a convict, they trusted he knew how to pay attention to his own body and take action and Michael was grateful for that.

“S’all good Mike.” Calum smiled warmly, making crinkles form around his comforting eyes. “So you’ll come?”

He shrugged. “As long as Ashton doesn’t bring his canvas and try to wow your family with how fast he can’t paint grapes again.”

  


“Well I’m sorry both of you are so untalanted you have to strip me of _my_ talents to feel better about yourselves.” Ashton grumbled beside them in the hallway, his arms crossed and his bag slung carelessly around his shoulder.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, what’s a rager without still-life speed paintings.” Calum rolled his eyes and dodged students walking the opposite way as them, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor and his backpack hitting people’s arms.

Michael walked behind them both, needing to go at a slower pace and gagging at their obvious flirtatiousness. Calum and Ash had their ways of showing affection and they were quite unconventional, it had always been that way. Though, whenever he was just beginning to feel like a third wheel, Calum would slug Ashton in the shoulder or Ashton would tell Calum his breath was rank and they’d suddenly snap out their temporary love daze and go back to being mildly disgusted by one another, it was like a nasty taboo porn plot.

“Michael? Are you listening to this creative inhibition?” Ashton looked back over his shoulder and immediately stopped when he noticed how far behind Michael was. He took him apologetically under his arm and Michael patted him to let him know it was fine.

“I’m saving you from embarrassing yourself in front of fifty plus people tonight, you should be thanking me…” Calum went on.

“Is that what my art is to you? Embarrassing?” Ashton raised an eyebrow at him and Calum turned around a bit making sure he saw his glazed expression. “Does that mean you don’t even like all the stuff I’ve made you over the years? The tangerine piece? You said tangerines were your favorite fruit but it turns out you’re actually embarrassed by everything that I’ve-”

“No! I love your tangerines!” Calum threw his hands up in the air defensively and approached his locker, pulling out the one thing he had left in there, an English notebook that he’d need for first period. Michael had his own in his bag.

“Then why don’t you have them hanging up anywhere?” Ashton quizzed and squeezed Michael tighter against him. “Michael hung up the paintings I made him.”

He scoffed in response. “Michael’s an ass kisser, everyone’s known that since the dawn of time.”

Ashton frowned and Michael immediately opened his mouth to defend himself but Calum placed a palm over his face and kept talking. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make, all I’m saying is why don’t we chill and play video games and attempt to get Rob locked in a cage with live tigers that’s so conveniently set up in my garage already and, you know, take a break from painting and have a fun end-of-the-high-school kickback. Waddya say?”

Michael bit Calum’s palm and he hissed then immediately retracted his hand, at the same time Ashton sighed. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes.”

Calum grinned, patted Ash on the back, then for some reason ruffled Michael’s hair that was far from being able to restyle so that it looked decent at that point, everyone was a slut for running their hands through it. “We’re gonna have fun.” Calum assured, though they all already knew, the excitement of today buzzed through their bones and out their fingers.

A few short seconds later the bell rang above them and the three boys relished in the sound of their last-first-morning-bell they’d ever hear and bit back smiles. Calum skipped around them and took Michael by the hand, tugging him along and Ashton pushed his bandana up his forehead before following and nearly tripping on his bootlace, he grabbed hold of Michael’s other clammy hand and they walked linked together all the way to class.

 

They arrived two minutes early, and Michael needed to sit down badly. Walking through crowded hallways was his ultimate nightmare but he was thankful he had Cal on one end and Ash on the other because without their assistance he’d still be in the main building on the floor in the midst of an anxiety attack, he thanked the angels above that they had the same first period and could protect him like a mama and papa bear all the way to the English hall.

Ashton and Calum sat in the back row of the chatty classroom and Michael ignored the seat they left open in between them and cautiously laid down on the cold tile floor near the bookshelf, just out of the way of the doorway. Calum and Ashton laughed at him and others just watched curiously. Michael gave no fucks when it came to needing to rest whilst in school, plus it was sorta cool that no faculty member had much to say about it either because they were of course aware of Michael’s issues but unaware that he milked it a bit more often than not by doing things like that. Michael swung his backpack under his head to use as a pillow and unzipped his jacket. He sprawled himself out and panted while few more kids rushed in last second through the door and gave him funny looks or outright grins.

“Mr. Clifford, may I interest you in a foam mat?” Their English teacher, Mr. Kabrick, a tall balding man with a full mustache and a mole on his cheek called from behind his desk. He sounded sarcastic but Michael knew he was being serious (there was one in the storage closet) and a bit worrisome.

Michael liked him, he treated him like a good friend rather than a moronic high school student suffering from a soup of side effects.

The entire class looked towards Michael who was spread out lazily with his sleeveless shirt exposing one nipple and his double chin prominent from the leverage his bag-pillow gave his head. Ashton snorted and Calum shook his head when he gave him a thumbs up. “S’all good.”

The man nodded and rolled his eyes with a tiny smirk apparent on his face. He turned toward the white board to finish writing ‘Have a great summer! See me after class for summer school info’ in his chicken scratch that Michael struggled to read all year long.

“You good Mike?” Calum asked, just to be sure.

Through Michael’s throbbing headache and aching legs and breathless lungs, he nodded, and not because his goal was to lie, it was more so that he didn’t really see those bodily setbacks as problems in that moment, he was transparent enough for Calum to see right through him.

The older boy looked at him skeptically for a moment before sighing and silently agreeing with Michael to let him have his good day and not dwell on what hurts, the pain will dull down again anyway. “Drink some water kid.” He advised him softly and faced the front of class when the final bell rang. Michael unzipped his bag with a shaky hand and ended up downing two water bottles and polishing off a bag of chips within the hour.

 

“Are you ready for this, duh nuh nuh da da-”

“Ready for what?” Ashton interrupted Calum’s a cappella rendition of 2 Unlimited’s 1992 classic and stared at the cans of easy cheese in his hands.

Calum unloaded two more cans then zipped his bag back and stared at Ashton as if he asked what a spoon was used for. “Uh, for the thing, that we’ve been planning since March?”

“What...not the _thing_ thing?”

“Yes the thing thing asshat, what else?”

Ashton frantically looked around the busy hall and at Michael who was leaning against the wall, exhausted but entertained all the same. “ _Now_ , why now? Wait, fuck no you said you were gonna do it after last period.”

“That was before I remembered Michael’s only here for the morning and I want him to get a chance to see it, gotta do it now and then drop him off in the fifteen minute window I have as a student aid and make it back before next class, or before my visit to the principal's office.” He flashed a cheeky grin and began unbuttoning his shorts while Ashton gawked at him.

Michael felt his heart pick up even more at the reality of Calum actually going through with this. He laughed into his hand when Calum shed all his clothing and was left standing there in a tight red speedo that he might have bought from the kid’s section at Target. He shoved a can in between the spandex and his skin on each hip and opened the other two.

At this point Ashton was looking away and flushing fire truck red and several people were laughing, calling Cal’s name, and wolf whistling. “Can’t believe I agreed to let this happen.” Ashton mumbled and Calum beamed at Michael.

“Walkie talkie?” He requested and Michael took it out of his raincoat pocket and handed it over.

“Max.” He spoke into the receiver. “Ready?”

“You’re a fucking moron.” An agitated voice came back through the small speaker and Ashton nodded in agreement, though Max couldn’t see he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Hood, man, what the fuck are you doing?” A tall boy Michael recognized from the soccer team approached the three boys with a sparkly grin and eyed Calum’s questionable apparel. Michael noticed a small crowd has formed behind him and people were peeking at him from all the way across the hall. Admittedly, he hated wide spread attention, but being Calum Hood’s best friend forced him to acclimate to it long ago and this was nothing new.

“Step back Chauncey and enjoy the show.” He chuckled and turned towards Michael who was in the midst of painful tachycardia and needed to sit soon but was enjoying himself as well, or forcing himself to. “Lemme do this and we’ll get you home bud, this is for you!” He leaned in a left a big sloppy kiss on Michael’s hot cheek and Michael groaned and shoved him off.

“Go before I fucking collapse under my own weight, moron.”

Ashton muttered something about needing Pepto-Bismol and long nap after this before Calum spoke into the walkie talkie again. “Okay hit it Max.”

In a second or two music came out of every overhead speaker in the entire building and everyone seemed to look up and grin at the same time when _Get Ready For This_ flooded the halls over the tinny sound system, they paid Max, a student government kid ,to sneak in the office and play the track and things couldn’t have gone more smoothly.

The next thing Michael knew Calum was racing down the hallway with spandex up his ass crack and thick yellow strings of cheese flying in the air and landing on innocent bystanders hair, faces, and clothing.

Michael watched in astonishment at the scene unfolding, it was almost unreal to see his best friend vandalizing the hallway so carelessly as their peers stood there in shock needing a moment to process what was happening.

Michael then sunk to the ground and wrapped his arms around his stomach when Calum started wiggling his hips and rubbing the stuff into his nipples like lotion, he threw his head back and laughed so hard he knew he was going to regret it later but he couldn’t help it, he was caught in staggering amounts of second hand embarrassment and enjoying the funniest thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. Everyone else’s collective laughter accompanied his, mixed in with the gasps and squeals of those who did not expect them to get an eye full of imitation cheese this morning.

Ashton stood there frozen with his mouth agape watching the brown boy’s lighter butt cheeks jiggle as he manically made his way through the entire A building, the stuff flew everywhere, high on the walls and ceilings and cork boards, posters for summer school were soiled and the monument on the wall made for school spirit was smeared in it as well. He covered his face in mortification when Calum somehow punctured the can and cheese spurted out all over the freshman math teacher’s chest. The woman was quick but Calum was quicker, dodging his way out of her grasp and rounding the corner to target the next hallway. Michael watched through his watery eyes as teachers were quick to chase after him and all the students within two hundred feet were blue in the face in hysterics or on the verge of tears because their clothing was tarnished and that Hood kid _“isn’t fucking funny!!!”_

Ashton looked over at Michael like he’d seen a ghost and began laughing in disbelief, rubbing his hands through his curly mane of hair when he noticed Michael wiping his wet cheeks. “This fucking kid…” He looked back down the hall and had difficulty figuring out what to do with himself, his hands hovering in the air and covering his mouth when they heard him making chimp noises faintly over the guy asking “Y’all ready for this?” over the speakers.

Michael snorted helplessly in his hands when he heard shoes clunking against the tile and growing in volume when Calum tripped his way back around again was already on his third can, spraying Ashton right on the ass and not turning around to see him yelp and contemplate chasing after him to ring his neck.

Michael weakly pulled out his phone and snapped photos of the curly haired boy who flipped him off and grabbed a handful of mush off his jeans, then flung it at him in revenge. It landed smack on Michael’s t-shirt.

Within the blink of an eye the whole hallway was flinging strings of cheese and slipping on the contents that was on the floor and Michael found it to be a pretty memorable last day.

****

Awhile later the cheese fight was broken up and everyone was sent to class covered in the stuff and those who wanted to change into school spirit shirts were allotted but Michael opted to marinate in his own stained wardrobe.

Ashton held him up as they hobbled through the hall and flashed his early leave sticker on his ID to the guards. “Okay. So, I guess Calum’s gonna run out and dive into the car and peel out of here so make sure you’re ready okay?”

It seemed unreal to Michael, like they were in an escape convict film and he had to start up the engine so Calum would slide in through the open window and race off into the night before the coppers got ahold of them. He guessed it wasn’t too far off.

“Okay.” Michael laughed breathlessly and open the front door to the main building. “Where’s he now?”

“He snaked his way through the crowd heading towards the bathroom to clean the cheese off them, now he’s hiding in a stall getting dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses so he won’t be recognized, says he’ll meet you in a few.

“So what’s he gonna do when he gets back?”

Ashton shrugged and helped Michael get his bag on his back. “Take whatever punishment they give him, it was worth it though you know. He really did do that for you.” Ashton said softly, though his face said that he was ready for this day to be over.

Michael smiled at him softly and Ashton couldn’t refrain from returning it. He looked around at the trashed hallway and the two poor janitors working on scraping remains off the painted cinder block walls with joint knives and mopping over the tile.

Michael loved them both for doing their best this year with cheering is emo ass up, once he had that fallout months back and hardly acknowledged their existence he suspected they’d want nothing to do with him, but they embraced him as if time had never passed and Michael didn’t become a sheet in the wind with zero purpose but to suffer. Since then they’d been over extending themselves, assuring good times and boat loads of support and positivity which mostly seemed like a pipe dream when he was first diagnosed but became a reality, and Michael was constantly afraid of weighing down too heavily on it all, soon it would crack from beneath him.

“See you tonight?” Ashton backed away slowly, trying to avoid stray cheese on the tile and flashing him his dimples.

Michael glanced at his heart rate monitor, it read a whopping one-sixty-eight and he knew he had to have a long recovery session before Calum picks him up for Mali’s party, he’s just praying that that’ll be enough for him to refill his imaginary health bar and head out later. “Let’s hope.” He mumbled, and Ashton nodded and gave him sad smile.

“Take care of yourself Mikey, don’t want you to miss us oiled up playing a game of twister.”

****

Calum did try and jump through the open car window but his shorts got caught on the door lock and his elbow hit the horn, so it wasn’t quite as badass as he wanted it to be. It didn’t matter anyway, he was caught by a faculty member but his student aid privileges allowed him to escape punishment for a chunk of time and he drove Michael home and really pressed him about relaxing and recharging so that he’d be top notch for later on, he was tired of playing Fifa alone with Ashton who sucked ripe ass sweat at video games.

Michael rested for two hours in bed and managed not to fall asleep, excessive sleeping can be bad for his pots and cause for even worse insomnia when bedtime actually came. Fighting if off was probably one of the hardest struggles next to getting ready in the mornings but he managed by messing around on his Gameboy and blasting Black Flag through his stereo.

After that he wandered around the house, ate, watched tv, and took very simple questions from his mom because his head was too jumbled to pull out a solid answer to something more complex, his brain fog was especially bad after coming home from a day out. He mentioned Mali’s party and with little argument she agreed on letting him go if he was capable, but not without wacking him across the arm with her dish towel and demanding he turn down the television first.

****

If 100% was how Michael felt on his best days as a potsie and 1% was his absolute worst in which he needed to be hospitalized, he’d predicted now, fluffing his hair and eyeing his outfit in the mirror that he was a solid 60%, that was more than enough percentage for him to be okay with sitting around at someone’s house and eating their food.

He hoped his skinnies and a nice but casual short sleeve button up was alright, he went through the cycles of thinking he looked like a fucking douche bag to assuming he was way too dressed down before Calum convinced him to send him a pic and in return Calum sent back a picture of his bare ass with the caption. _“you look great! be there in ten”_

Michael chose to ignore the nude and slid his phone in his pocket, letting out a slow breath and getting his to-go bag ready so he can take his night round of meds at some point while he was there. Thankfully he wasn’t all that nervous, the Hood residence was homey and he missed Mali almost as much as Calum. He just hoped it was cool that avoid literally everyone at all costs and was allowed to pass out cold on Cal’s mattress if his body demanded him to.

Calum showed up a little later than he said he would but he blamed Ashton for taking twenty years picking out an slushie flavor at the convenience store, he made it up to Michael by getting his usual supply of potato chips. Ashton hopped in the back seat and Michael sat on the passenger's side and was given the role of DJ for the couple-minute drive. He put on country music as a joke but Ashton slapped his hand away when he went to change it because in his words, ‘Dierks Bentley is a certified panty dropper and I wish I would have saved myself for him and had him deflower me in an alleyway behind a bar when he played here last year.’ Calum had slammed on the breaks and made Ashton hit the side of his face on the back of Michael’s seat.

When they arrived Michael smiled and took in the familiar green house that was now nicely decorated with streamers, balloons, and a big banister that said ‘Welcome home Mali-Koa!” on the front porch.

Calum had rolled his eyes and complained that this was way too extra for someone who was just driving down a few hours from uni and not on leave from the marines but Michael thought it was really nice, he liked extra.

He hugged Mali for five minutes inside and she pet his hair and scratched his scalp with her fake nails while his face was smushed into the sleeve of her dress. Calum was on edge as his mom glared daggers at him for the stunt he pulled at school and because he’d have to spend tomorrow helping custodians clean up for a couple hours, luckily teachers were lenient and the principal still let his ass attend graduation. Michael could see in Calum’s face he had zero regret though, only feigned it in the presence of his mom. Ashton awkwardly filled up a plastic cup with lemonade beside Rob who was getting his giant jug of salt water Calum bought and lugged it over to his fish tank temporarily set up in Mali’s room and three boys did their best to duck their way out of conversations from friends and family until Calum used Michael’s illness as an excuse to escape to his bedroom which, was a valid one.

Ashton gave Michael a piggy back ride up the creaky stairs. His lungs were on fire as they pressed into his back and his legs were aching like they’d been crushed under a thousand pounds, throbbing under his jeans, the tips of his toes were practically going numb, he was unable to feel them when they wacked against the wall and Ashton fervently apologized. Michael eased him by letting his heavy head rest on the older boys shoulder.

His limbs felt like sandbags by the time he was placed on Calum’s messy bed, almost unable to open his chips and lift one to his mouth as they started up the PlayStation and bickered about who would be first player before they agreed Michael would. His head was so foggy he barely registered the plastic shoved in his greasy hands and the colors vividly racing across the screen. Before he could grasp that they were playing a round of COD Zombies, Michael had already kicked their asses and he smiled weakly knowing that even if he got half his brain surgically removed he could beat these fools no sweat.

He downed a bottle of water between rounds and at some point Mali busted through the door then demanded to see Michael and check if he was alright because Calum just kidnapped him with no warning, she sat beside him and babied him like she enjoyed doing. Michael let her, she was the older sister he wished he had and she smelled like cherries and her skin was soft, Rob didn’t deserve her.

A couple minutes after Michael was starting to wonder why Rob hadn’t been glued to Mali’s fucking hip he made himself apparent when Calum left to take a leak. When he came back, he was elbowed into a wall by the dude who was ‘preoccupied’ lugging up a suitcase and ‘didn’t see him.’

It didn’t go over well.

Mali barked at Rob to watch where he’s going and stop hiding his real intentions under dumbass excuses, but what surprised Michael the most was Ashton, who was sitting quietly, clenching his jaw as Rob patronized Calum. He squeezed his large hands into fists like he was going to throw a punch without hesitation if he uttered one more high-minded statement to the brown boy, luckily Mali stepped in before that but Michael stared at Ashton for minutes afterwards without his knowledge, watched him through stages of regaining his composure before Calum noticed anything different about him, it left Michael with a warm feeling in his chest that was also new and alien to him, he couldn’t quite place what it was but it was nice and it made him look down at his thighs and smile when Ashton flicked his eyes over to him.

Michael fell asleep a bit later after his night round of meds, feeling a little empty in the head after this morning when every crevice of his skull was packed with anxious gnawing thoughts that have now subdued. He laid there puffing air heavily out of his parted lips and keened in the rainy warm wind coming through Cal’s window, the sound of his blinds smacking against each other softly and faint music from downstairs making it’s way through the vents. Dishes clinking and laughter and Ashton and Calum talking softly, hitting buttons on the control pad.

From the reflection of the window glass he could see Calum fixing a curly strand of hair sticking out of Ashton’s green bandana and tucking it back in with care, Ashton gave him an array of looks before settling on a soft and loving one, one that Michael rarely saw the artist make but took note when he did. He looked down at Calum’s lips for a split second, so quick Michael shouldn’t have even caught it but he did, it made his eyes sting. He squeezed them shut and pulled the blue comforter up under his chin, then tried to calm the storm thrashing in his ears. He wasn’t sure why he felt like there was heavy winds inside him but he guessed that seeing something he wasn’t supposed to irritated his heart, a deep unfamiliar pang of loneliness was present.

It's weird after all these years, knowing his two best friends were secretly head over heels for each other, it only made him sad _now_ , thinking about how they had it made out for them, Calum and Ashton. They had health and vitality and able-ness that Michael lacked, a love like theirs could fucking flourish if they let it.

Michael may or may not feel random aches at times when he’s alone in his room staring at all the space he had beside him in his bed, or watching ugly romance movies with his mouth filled with peanut butter cups or how he almost skipped out on prom because everyone had a date and Michael had a backpack filled with meds and a folding cane he was encouraged to use if walking got difficult. Love wasn’t idyllic for him, and when he got thinking about it for too long he’d end up panting on the floor pressing his palm against his throbbing heart in frustration for being dysfunctional yet so full of this peculiar longing for a person he’s never met and probably never will.

He didn’t get much sleep that night, he wasn’t sure if it was worth it just to see Calum move the hair from Ashton’s eyes.

By the time he woke up Ashton’s paintings were hanging proudly on Calum’s wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING :D  
> scream at me on [tumblr](http://lukemichael.tumblr.com), and check out the crappy [fic edit](http://lukemichael.tumblr.com/post/152428613011/lukemichael-paracosm-by-lukemichael-on-ao3) i made for this


	3. The Less I Know The Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're a hop-skip away from meeting Luke

Michael tripped over a shrub that was growing within a median before he made it onto school grounds, his mom had a heart attack from behind him and decided it was best if they linked arms all the way to the football field, his nerves could make him presyncope and that would suck to fall onto the concrete and dirty up his slacks so he agreed.

There were students and parents scurrying all around them at a much faster pace, nothing but blurs of fluffy pink dresses under blue gowns and tassels whipping into the air, the clicking of heels and the sheer panic in voices as they squealed about how they forgot something in the car.

Today’s Hits played loudly in the distance, most likely from the sound system setup on the field. When he squinted in that general direction he saw a bunch of peers fooling around and speed walking to the cafeteria where they would have to line up before commencement began. Calum was unsurprisingly running late and Ashton had been fervently texting Michael all day, he arrived early, like asscrack early and waited at the gates for around an hour before the staff arrived. Apparently his nerves got the best of him, he douched and bleached and prepped himself early on like Michael expected. He told him as soon as his alarm went off this morning he started getting ready, even waxed his unibrow for the occasion, he finished fairly quickly and thus had to sit around in a suit all day and refrain from allowing his younger siblings to fuck up his hair, whereas Calum, his polar opposite woke up at noon, met up with Michael and did fuck all until about a half hour before Michael’s family had to leave, he raced back home and had been MIA since. It was actually hilarious that him and Ashton were so opposite when it came to pretty much everything including poor time management, he briefly wondered if that was why they fit well together, like small pieces in a tricky puzzle.

He hobbled all the way up the ramp in front of the office (he opted to use it as opposed to stairs, does even have to explain?) and rounded the corner through the breezeway, his mom marked him with her lipstick lips six times and his dad trailing closely behind placed his the square blue cap over his hair, careful not to mess it up more than needed, and gave him a tight side hug. His gown was securely tucked under his arm, and his fuschia colored bow tie (which he personally selected to match his hair, and it looked adorable on him, thank you very much) had been adjusted to perfection three times over.

He felt okay.

He hoped that was okay that that’s all he felt. It was times like this when guilt would settle in on him like a nasty plague quickly spreading through his whole body, he should be ecstatic, like all these people around him grinning and taking selfies with their friends, chattering like chipmunks. He should feel accomplished, proud, full of jitters like Ash, or with confidence like Calum. Deep down he was, but it was too deep that a barrier has built itself around that, kept it from showing itself, he felt numb. He felt tired. He felt okay, he liked the Kesha song that was playing well enough, he didn’t end up looking like his dead grandfather in his slacks, they actually did wonders for his ass. The weather felt good, the kind where he didn’t need two sweaters and a jacket nor did he need a cooling vest and to arrive basically naked. It was going to rain again, maybe the next day, he could smell it in the air and it eased it him a little as he parted ways with his parents, carefully watched his footing over the pavement and tried his best to ignore the guy that stepped on his foot, dirtying up his high top, it wasn’t his fault, Michael was in all black aside from his bow tie, it was getting dark out and he was basically a tall emo shadow in the wind, it was all good. Things were going fine.

Michael rarely went into the cafeteria, the last time he was forced to was right around the time he was diagnosed and his old friend Tommy, someone who used to mean as much to him as Ashton and Calum, noticed how down he had been the entire week, happy because they finally found out what Michael had been experiencing for years but drained and a bit hopeless knowing there was a whole mysterious syndrome he was going to have to learn how to fight through.

The entire lunch period they sat on the second floor of the caf and dropped tator tots into Will Bourdelle’s hoodie solely because he used to push Michael around in elementary school, and their aim was amazing, Michael remembered the shy kiss Tommy left on the top of his head after their half hour laughing fit when Will walked out and hadn’t even noticed in incessant amount of potato in his jacket, he remembered how the kiss made him feel really good, important, sort of tingly at the toes.

It was a memory and feeling he continuously thought about, and at times it acted as bandage. But as of now it made him a little dizzy while he pushed open the heavy door with his shoulder and the vent above the door blew his tassel in his face, whacking him in the eye and making him squint down at the floor.

“Mikey!” Ashton voiced bounced off the painted block walls and footsteps came rushing toward him, he focused on blinking the tears out his eye when sleek dress shoes peeking out of a blue gown appeared in front of him. “You look fucking hot dude, the crying into your hands thing really sells the look, you should do that on stage.”

“Shut up, tassel punctured my cornea” He grumbled and looked up at him with his good eye, he wish he hadn’t, because now he had to struggle to keep from bursting out in a fit of giggles and sparing Ashton’s feelings.

His usual unruly hair was completely slicked over flat against his scalp, the bottom tufts curling against the nape of his neck. He was wearing a full blown Al Capone suit, not to mention it was two sizes two big. He looked like Michael’s dad’s sleazy boss that never liked to pay his employees for overtime and carried around a briefcase even though his dad knew for a damn fact all he kept in there was a smashed egg McMuffin and that month's Men’s Fitness magazine.

“Damn big daddy what’s a boy gotta do to get your liver spotted hands on him tonight.” Michael couldn’t hold in his snorts anymore, he threw his head back and clapped when Ashton’s face twisted into something venomous.

“Shut the fuck up alright my great aunt is in town and she insisted on…” He sighed and hopelessly glanced down at the pants nearly sagging over his shoes. “Insisted on my uncle's old suit for a well put-together...mature look, because I’m a future Clairemont student for fucks sake, alright? I look mature, what is that shit, fuckin’, pink bow? You look like Porky Pig, you look like the Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge album shit you out its deep dark asshole. Stop laughing! Or else Calum’s gonna be my new favorite.”

Michael’s laughter settled after a minute and he took the time to properly regain an appropriate breathing pattern, glancing at his heart rate monitor watch and deciding he was about one hundred forty BPM, that wasn’t bad, his vision wasn’t spotty, not unless he decided to torture himself and glance up the balcony Tommy used to kiss his head at, sometimes his cheek.

“He’s already your favorite.” Michael smiled absently and blinked at the wall, trying to get the colors that spelled out the school’s name to stop bleeding together.

“Hm?”

Michael swallowed and focused in on Ashton again. “Uh, no I, you look great Ash, can finally see your face you know, I’ve known you for years and never had a clue your eyes were hazel.”

He glowered at Michael and adjusted his long tie hanging against his chest. “Hooty hoo, come with me to bathrooms.”

Without further discussion, he did, and swallowed the bile in his throat in the meantime.

Ashton immediately headed for the sinks when they opened the door, Michael decided he’d put on his gown in the mirror, the fluorescent lighting made him appear as bad as he felt...it also completely washed out his eyebrows which was a total slap in the face to someone who took pride in their usual thick, voluptuous appearance.

His fingers played with the zipper at the collar, the sleeves felt odd on his skinny arms, made him feel even more frail than he was. He looked like he was playing dress up, everything was big and lopsided and a part of his button down somehow got untucked from his pants, it was all really strange. It occurred to him that he hadn’t ever taken the time to even think about his own attractiveness in the mirror, how grown he looked in the gown, professional, mature. Tired. His eyes looked sad, the corners of his mouth were turned down, he looked like an adult, aside from the wild hair, tufts of it poking out his cap and his bangs hiding his massive forehead and the zit that moved in and paid rent on it.

Michael wanted to go to bed, sneak out the back and walk down the San Valley hill all the way to his house, wait out the rain that was coming while resting on his mattress and plotting against the wind chimes that never let him relax, play the same level of Counterstrike and pretend someone was between his legs giving him a blowjob during it because that might make him feel better. He wished he could say all that out loud, but letting his thoughts run wild always depressed everyone around him.

Michael should be grateful that he was there and not home, crying, cutting out the eyes and mouths of the high school faculty members for being right about him all along, he would never make it to the end, he was too ill, a charity case, let poor baby Michael Clifford drop out, his tummy and head always hurt don’t make him come to school or be homebound, let him rest, don’t make him finish out his fours years and _certainly_ don’t let him wear our ridiculously over sized gowns and trudge across stage with that weird little duck waddle he has and insecurely shake the principal's hand.

Michael should be grateful that he’s about to do just that, fuck everything else, this is his last time in a Ridgemont bathroom inhaling a week's worth of shit and pot not-so-discreetly smoked in the stalls and he had to bask in it. Fuck cold feet for college and _fuck_ Postural Orthafuck-Suck Syndrome and the pain it’s causing him to even stand there and breathe, he’s gonna go out there, rip the mock-diploma from the fat man’s hand and vigorously shake his other one and tell him, the vice, and his class-counselor that they can suck his chubby before cartwheeling off the stage.

“Ashton.”

“Yeah buddy.”

“Shake my hand.” Michael commanded.

He looked at him through the mirror and stopped petting the three hairs he had on his upper lip. “Did you rub it on your asshole or something.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “What, you want me too?”

Ashton rolled his eyes and faced him, extending his right hand for Michael to practice shaking before he shakes people’s on stage, he wants it to be firm, like he meant business, he wanted it to be a fuck you handshake, he owed it to himself, this was it.

He nearly tore Ashton’s arm off before he deemed himself ready, they exited with him rubbing his aching shoulder and Michael zipping up his gown, avoiding a boy who was on all fours trying to shove another boy up the bottom of his gown to create one giant person.

When they walked toward the line that was loosely beginning to form. Calum appeared at of nowhere, racing toward them like his ass was on fire, his hair was proper combed to the side, red cheeks, shining eyes, he wore a red bow tie with a white button up and dress pants that much resembled Michael’s, he bet his ass looked even better than his own did in them. Ashton softened, looked at him with subtle heart eyes, and Michael blinked away.

“Guys! Hey I- oh my god you look like the cracker version of my great grandpa Eddie.” Calum’s face immediately contorted when he got a good look at Ashton, and Ashton’s heart eyes immediately vanished into thin air, Michael could almost see the faint shape of hearts evaporating above them.

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later sweets.” Calum winked and pressed his knuckles against his jaw, Ashton opened his mouth to retaliate but decided to close it when Michael snorted at their idiocy.

“Foreplay later please, why the fuck are you here so late? You’re riding the tip of the dick right now.”

Calum made an infuriated noise and hoisted his bag off his shoulder like it was the world’s biggest burden to carry right after the weight of murdering someone or something. He undid the velcro and pulled his wrinkled heap of gown out followed by his cap. “I,” he began, throwing the blue material over his shoulders, “got a call from my club soccer coach right as I was about to leave, talked my fucking ear off for a half hour.”

“What’d he say?” Michael glanced up at a lady who he didn’t recognize but looked pretty professional at the head of the line.

Calum smiled. “The banquet got moved up from September fourth to August twenty eighth, turns out someone booked our venue for a wedding on the fourth and the planner chick wasn’t aware, the day I’ve been waiting for since I was a sperm in my dad’s nuts got bumped up one fucking week!” He rejoiced, grin splitting his face in half. “Coach wasn’t too happy, but I’m zazzed as shit.”

Michael thought distantly about the week of the twenty eighth, he tried to recall the importance of it, where he’d heard it before today.

“Class!” The professional lady in the pantsuit called over everyone’s voices and waved her arms in the air to get their attention. “It’s time to line up like you all rehearsed!”

Students clamored to get behind the person they memorized to be in front of them at rehearsal the other day, the line would end up being hundreds of them split into two groups, last names A to M and N to Z, the three of them were the same line but still far apart, Michael briefly remembered the insane amount of seniors with last names beginning with C and how he was smack dab in the middle of them, right behind another girl, named Evy, who had the same surname. Not related, but she was nice enough to giggle at the fact that they were both Cliffords and couldn’t be more opposite in appearance.

“Uh, that’s great.” Michael replied lamely and looked around, searching for the Clifford girl with the kind smile and dark skin. “I’ll definitely be there.”

“I know you will.” Calum responded automatically, slapping his shoulder. He looked sure, proud. Michael gulped, but Calum didn’t notice, he was busy messing with Ashton’s collar, picking a stray piece of lint off his stubble.

Ashton smiled the tiniest bit, then cleared his throat and searched through the sea of people. “O-okay, I have to go get in line.” He waved a limp hand and backed away, nearly tripping over his own huge feet. “See you guys on the other side, yeah?”

Michael nodded and gave him a crooked victory smile. Calum gave Ashton a look. Michael felt weird, like he was intruding on something by just standing there. “See ya, Ash.” He spoke softly and Ashton quickly turned away.

“Heya Clifford!” A girl’s voice called, Michael looked in the direction of it and saw Evy, cap resting on her two french braids, perfect teeth nearly blinding him. “Get your ass over here!”

Michael found it easy to match her smile, it was pretty infectious. He was a bit sad he never got a chance to get to know her through school, besides the fact that he only intended one class with the same thirty five kids the entire year, he was a asocial, if that wasn’t obvious. She would have been a good friend to have. “Okay,” He began, backing away from Calum. “get in line, why are you just standing there looking constipated.”

Calum blinked his way out of stupor and glowered at him. “Heart rate?”

Michael grinned. “One forty.”

He narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Hope it doesn’t raise up.”

“Hope those bowel issues of yours don’t last...” Michael shot back and turned around, skipping towards his place in line.

Michael knew Calum meant that, he hoped his heart rate wouldn’t increase anymore, but he took his morning and afternoon meds, had plenty of resting time, and ate two half assed meals a couple hours apart so he could stomach it all. He’ll be alright.

It made him remember camp, and how they’d be doing healthy heart rate inducing and reducing activities, having it leap around by being forced to go on slow hikes up the Hodge mountain and then cooling off by sitting on a log and making daisy chains. He wish Death himself would grab him by the collar and drag him to hell before he’d have to step foot onto the Dysautonomia Youth Network of America camp grounds, and stay there for most of the day before he was picked up and forced to go again for the following two months, then back again in August for what? Some lame ass achievement ceremony where they give away “Most Socially Improved” and “Most Physically Improved since the beginning of camp” awards which he was not looking forward to attending.

By the time he got behind Evy and gave her a solid high five after making small talk about how pumped they were for finally leaving this shit hole, Michael choked on his fucking spit.

August twenty eight was the day of that stupid ceremony, one that he knew he wouldn’t be able to miss, not even for Calum’s soccer banquet he’d been ranting and raving about all year, the one that scouts that had already invited him to try out for Clairmont’s team would be attending (he made it, first string), professional soccer players were coming to their small town for this thing, other high school’s teams and club teams, plus all their coaches and invited guests. Everyone was fucking going. Everyone but Michael.

His mom paid a royal ass load of money for this thing, day by day, including the day of the ceremony and all the festivities that would go on. No possible way in heaven or purgatory would she let him skip out on it because it meant losing close to one hundred dollars just for that ceremony. His family wasn’t impoverished, but with medical bills and college fees and taking care of their house, Michael knew they struggled, being an only child that was a confusing concept to him at the beginning of his illness, he got everything he wanted. Getting sick really gave him a new mindset, a patient, humble, understanding outlook. Most of his unwillingness to ask if he could go to Calum’s event instead was stemmed from pure guilt, not even the fact that he knew his mom would say no.

Seeing her, standing in the kitchen, frazzled and tired, trying to scrape together a meal Michael was able to eat and taking in the news that she wasted her money on paying for a ceremony would crush Michael. He couldn’t ask her. He wouldn’t. He was going to let Calum down, maybe that was just as bad, but at least nothing as sacred as money was going into Michael’s attendance at the banquet.  

He felt sick, he hadn’t realized he’s been biting his lower lip raw until he tasted metallic on his tongue.

There was no time to vomit, the line began moving, the crowd shuffled toward the cafeteria doors and before anyone was finished petting out the wrinkles in their clothing, faint graduation music started playing from the speakers on the football field. It was still cloudy from what he could see, a part of him, the masochistic part, hoped that it rained, ruining the entire set up - everyone’s clothes, short circuiting the wires, flooding the stage.

They walked out, spaced a few steps between each student, it took what felt like years for everyone to be seated, he wanted to RPG the stereo to get that fucking song to stop playing while he was trying to focus on not slipping on the fake grass under his feet as hundreds of eyes were on him. He managed to only misplace his foot once when a parent used flash photography on the person behind him, but by some miracle he caught himself quickly and he hoped it went virtually unnoticed, not only was he painfully uncoordinated but he was busy rehearsing what he was going to say to Calum about going backsies on his RSVP.

He swallowed hard when he sat in the stiff plastic chair beside Evy, the ceremony began, there were people whisper-yelling students names from the bleachers as their principal, god damn his soul, talked about things that just gave Michael anxiety. The big bad world and how they were all strong enough to take it head on, shit about personal journeys, what you learn in high school about blah and blah will stick with you for a lifetime, memories and...other things that Michael didn’t feel qualified to listen to. He wasn’t even present to build lifelong memories, he was on his white couch, between decorative pillows, trying to bust out trigonometry with Naruto playing on the tv in the background. These speeches, from him, the vice, the valedictorian, and the person who won the best speech contest, they all sounded pretty much the same, like waves crashing against rock at different times of day. All the same. Michael couldn’t interpret any of it, maybe it was just because he was refusing to. He couldn’t concentrate, people around him were crying, sniffling. His palms were sweaty.

He clapped when he needed to, smiled at Evy when she patted his knee after the valedictorian (who was some girl he’d never seen) mentioned Calum’s easy cheese extravaganza as an example of a way to go out with a bang. He heard a whoop from behind him, he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

The speeches were over and the tears and clapping were still coming, some girls were crying into other people’s gowns, a few faculty were as well. Michael looked at the bleachers on the off chance he’d find his mom and dad in the crowd, he saw Calum’s mom first, leaning on her husband and wiping away happy tears, Mali was fanning herself, attempting to clean the smudged mascara from under her eyes. Rob looked bored. The Irwin family was sitting right there as well, his mom filming the whole thing and Lauren and Harry, Ashton’s younger siblings, looked pleased enough. Michael guessed they were mostly intrigued with the whole process, rather than emotional about any of it.

His parents were only a few bleachers up, they were already looking at him. His mom, as always had vague concern in her eyes, but she flashed a big watery smile and his dad did as well, he returned one that seemed to be convincing enough because then they waved, overly excited and gratified. Their energy was worlds above him, just like the speeches, he couldn’t grasp it. Michael waved back.

“Denise Abbott.” The principal called into the mic, and claps and hollers followed it as a girl on crutches who was already on stage made her way over, Michael assumed they didn’t want to make her deal with stairs more times than she had to, even though it was only three steps up one side and three steps down the other, Michael wished they let him sit up on stage too.

She smiled brightly, tucked her crutches up against her and shook each of their hands (and not like a fucking pussy either), then grabbed her diploma with her left hand, faced the grad company photographer and gave the lense a genuine smile, by then another name was being called. It was that simple. Michael could do that no sweat, despite the fact that he had already been sweating since they left the caf.

Names after names were called into the mic, or more like murmured against, the guy's lips were smashed again windscreen and the entire thing was nearly down his throat, every ‘P’ present in a person’s name popped through the speakers and made Michael jump. Evy glanced at him funny, he laughed it off, not in the mood to explain how his pots made his fight or flight stress response insanely sensitive.

Michael doesn’t think he’s ever clapped as much in his entire life combined than he did during the first ten minutes of the ceremony. His hands were a little numb and pink, like fatty salami. He grimaced and decided to give up clapping all together, he was way too nervous anyway, the spotlight was on his row now, he gave half-hearted thigh pats to those being called but his arm felt too heavy to attempt even that.

Michael’s fingers were trembling, he felt his skin dampening within the small roll his belly made when he slouched and his bowtie felt like it was tightening around the base of his throat. His insides burned and his heartbeat rattled his ribs so much so he was beginning to feel a little worried, all he had to do was walk up there, without puking, crying, fainting, tripping, or going into cardiac arrest.

Was the grass wet? The grass felt wet.

Michael rubbed his polished shoes on the synthetic grass and huffed. Of course it’s not fucking wet, what like they water this shit? It’s artificial turf.

“Evy Clifford!”

Evy made a small excited noise and flashed her heavenly white teeth again, standing up and grabbing ahold of her gown so that she didn’t trip over the material. She quietly apologized as she squeezed past people’s knees made her way to stage. There was heavy, boisterous whooping from the sea of people to their right, mixed with high pitched parakeet-like shrieks.

She did wonderful, magnificent, it was truly an oscar worthy diploma acceptance, _and_ she did it all whilst maneuvering around in her four inch heels. It was tear jerking, Michael had to discreetly wipe the dampness from around his eyes.

He wished he would have asked about paying her to accept his diploma for him back in line, they most likely would have allowed it, all she had to do was explain he had a poo-poo platter of emotional and physical disabilities and whip out a doctor's note and they would have handed it to her, easy as that.

Michael’s intestines were either knotting themselves or he’s just straight up about to shit his pants. Literally. Literal shit.

“Michael Clifford!”

Dripping down his leg.

Almost instantly after the last syllable of his name left the principal’s tight, cracked, lips, he heard Calum behind him screaming bloody murder in a high C, Ashton was lower, more of really projected throat-clearing noise. They were harmonizing beautifully.

He heard the three families he had for him buzzing in his ear as well, mostly his mom and Mali trying to outdo each other when it came to cheering his name.

He hadn’t realize he stood up until his right knee buckled from doing just that, causing him to stumble a bit and catch the nose of his shoe on someone else’s. He saved him himself when he gripped onto the back of a chair and got proper footing, taking a deep breath and putting a wobbly smile on his face to show that he was alright. He wasn’t. He wanted to run head first into a brick wall.

“Atta boy Cliffo!” Calum howled when he was on his way once more, one foot in front of the other crunching softly on the grass and ignoring the rising number on his watch.

He made his way around the rows safely and kept his eyes on the ground, most everyone boring into him had no clue who he was. A pale dude with hair that looked like a wig.

Michael clamped his jaw tight and exhaled shakily through his nose, looking up at those politely clapping, the blue gray clouds behind them made for a spellbinding background, it soothed him in the slightest, distracted him from the burn her felt on his entire right side where he knew everyone was looking at and sizing him up.

He clenched his tummy muscles, fighting off the urge to empty his stomach a foot in front of him.

He panted and waddled across stage like he’d never heard of lifting your feet when you walked, they were too heavy, and took their natural position in a penguin-like angle as he stepped forward and took the mock-diploma in his right hand, reached out a disgusting, trembling, clammy hand and shook has best he could. He felt like he couldn’t squeeze enough, the man’s huge hairy hand had a tight hold on him and Michael could barely curl his fingers.

“Congratulations.” He smiled. “You did excellent this year Michael.”

The warm look in his eyes and proud-grandpa smile was a crock of shit, something he rehearsed in the bathroom before every grad night surely. This guy hated his fucking guts, treated him like a half-wit baked potato with slim to none chances of finishing out his time here what with all the insane obstacles he single handedly chucked into Michael’s path to success. Michael’s legs were only so long and he could only leap over so many flaming barrels without falling flat on his face.

“Thank you sir.” He flushed.

“Congratulations.” The vice principal chimed in with a handshake.

Michael’s expression was mostly likely halfway between constipated and terrified when he glanced at the long lense camera and the guy squatting behind it, shuffling around like was about to tell him he was sexy and to act like a naughty kitty. Michael bared his teeth hesitantly and flicked his eyes all around, he was frozen stiff when the flash went off and blinking wildly in confusion and embarrassment and when out of the corner of his eye he saw his mom hurdling towards them at full speed with a camera in her hands shouting. “Wait!”

She knelt down in the grass and held it with her index fingers and thumbs, focusing on the viewfinder and holding it far from her face so she could actually see what was in front of her, when it was no longer blue blobs and the actual outline of her son she grinned wide and a little manically. “Smile baby bear!” She encouraged.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut as the tips of his ears began stinging and a lump formed in his throat. He sighed heavily and with all the strength someone like him could muster, he did what he was told, she took ten burst-mode photos in a row and everyone on stage nearly had a stroke before she thanked them and scurried off to her seat again. Michael walked off to side trying to swallow his heart beat and drown out the sound of Calum’s laughter.

When he sat down he got a sympathetic shoulder rub from Evy, he shook his head and played with the rolled up piece of paper in his hands and closed his eyes, trying to break his heart’s spirit and get it to obey him.

_Slow down._

The rest of the ceremony was around forty five minutes, he clapped for some and tapped his knee for others, Calum ran up to the stage raising his index fingers in the air like he made the final buzzer shot of the season and shook everyone’s hand vigorously, smiled politely at the camera and stuck his tongue out last minute, then leaped off the stage. Michael grinned and cheered weakly for him as he was walking back. Calum turned up the corners of his mouth, but he mostly looked worried and sympathetic, his browns eyes were soft, swirling with a kind wisp of gold. “You okay?” He mouthed.

Michael nodded and looked down at his thighs, he was, this too shall pass. It always passed.

Ashton went up a little later, there was loud cheering for him as well, he wasn’t exactly popular but he was that cool art kid that everyone took turns sitting with at lunch and invited to parties. Michael was a little jealous of him, of Calum too, of course, star soccer player, rowdy fun and charismatic. They gave no shits, just did their thing and met back up at the end of the day closer than ever despite their different scenes. Michael was never like that, he was clingy, filled with self reproach, quiet. At least he got to be around people who were the exact opposite, when it came down to it he was glad he could call Calum and Ashton his best friends, and live vicariously through their cool collected lives,

After moving his tassel and listening to more long-winded final words, he threw his cap in the air, or more like tossed it gently two feet above his head before it came down again and a sharp corner hit him in the forehead.

His parents squeezed him as tight as they were allowed keeping in mind that his skin was made of paper, they performed their scheduled “Are you okay? Did you take your meds? You feel hot…You need to rest soon. Heartrate? How’s your stomach...what about your legs...water? Oh jesus, Michael, drink water, right now I don’t want to hear it” but this time it was different, it was spoken tenderly, meshed oddly with hugs and tears and shoulder rubs and hair kisses.

His mom took the liberty of actually _showing_ Michael all the horrid, high resolution photos she took, most of him just sitting in his chair, epic double chin and pale as frosty the snowman and looking close to dead. Michael winced and tried his best to make it seem like he was genuinely interested in viewing them.

Maybe, ninety more photos were taken. The three boys, just Michael, Michael and his mom, Michael and his dad, Michael and - you better let me take a damn picture with my favorite brother - Mali, (Calum flipped her off.)

The air was damp and muggy by the time they were all done, down the hill, people driving on the long main roads had turned their headlights on, businesses lit up their signs, Michael felt a single rain droplet on the bridge of his nose accompanied by a breeze that smelled like wet soil.

“We better get you all home eh?” His dad piped up and wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“Actually…” Calum approached the three families, a few people Michael vaguely recognized were close behind him chatting, most were on the soccer team, the other were probably their girlfriend’s based on how cuddled up everyone was. They intimidated him, most definitely.

“I was wondering if I could steal Ash and Mike for a few hours, take them to a pizza place to celebrate and that. These guys are tagging along too.” He nodded his head in the group's direction and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It won’t be crazy just grease and...good times.”

Ashton’s mom shrugged her shoulders and grabbed a hold of Harry’s hand, who looked tempted to wander off. “I don’t mind.”

His mom looked hesitant, but that was the protocol. “Oh I don’t know honey.” She glanced over at Michael, taking in his sweaty tomato-like complexion and his drooping eyelids, the way he swayed a little from left to right like one slight breeze could topple him over. “Michael needs rest, I think.”

That was true, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go, although if he heads home and eats a high status meal of softened chicken and microwave mac n’ cheese alone in bed before passing out, he might seriously hate himself for it, for not going out on the first sort of official night of summer to create a nice memory or something, home sounded wonderful, but he’s _trying so hard_ to do what the doctors advised him to when his mattress was calling his name. _Get out more often, push yourself a little, don’t close yourself off._

This was his chance to prove to all these people who had no clue who he was that he wasn’t delicate egg inside of an incubator, the dome being the safety of his house, the light keeping him alive being pills and sleep.

“Uhm.” His voice cracked, everyone’s eyes turned towards him so he decided to avoid them all and stare at Rob’s Gucci loafers. “I’m actually...I’m alright. We’re not going on a hike or anything I think I can handle sitting in a booth.”

“Yeah!” Calum piped up. “We’ll take good care of him, we always do.” Surprisingly his mom didn’t snort at that but Joy took the liberty of doing so.

Michael’s dad removed the cap from his head and tugged a little on his gown, signaling him to shoulder it off. “No that’s fine, Michael knows his limits, go have fun you guys.”

“Daryl.” Karen said, he ignored her. 

“Just call or text if you need anything and be dropped off before midnight.”

Calum grinned, Michael was trying not to talk himself out of this and his mom was shaking her head at his dad’s discreet “he’ll be fine” look.

She was going to have an absolute field day when he had to leave at the end of summer, if there was anything that could put him at ease it was that he didn’t have to deal with that for another few months.

 

“Only eat two slices at most and save the rest for later okay? And no wings.” His mom released Michael’s face and he rubbed at the red spots her fingers made on his cheeks.

“K mom.”

“I mean it, I don’t have your anti diarrhea medicine with me Michael and I know how much you hate going to the bathroom in public places.”

It was an absurd conversation to have as ten people he didn’t know stood close by and horsed around but she made a good point. Wings were the enemy, he didn’t feel like sitting on a toilet for hours crying because everything hurt so bad.

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

She went in for a temple kiss but mostly got his eye. He didn’t mention it though. “Love you so much, call if something goes wrong or plans changed and you need a ride.”

His dad had to drag her away, and Michael sort of already missed her. Now he was left with no real adult to lean on and had to rely on his ravishing personality to get him through a night with people his own age.

He turned around and saw a guy picking up a short brunette girl, throwing her over his shoulder and running around as she laughed about the risk of her ass hanging out. Calum and Ashton were nowhere to be seen.

Michael looked around the entire field before deciding to walk around and see if he couldn’t find them, no way in hell was going to loiter around with those people and smile tightly whenever they said something that wasn’t particularly funny.

He walked though the gates at the end of the field and looked through the breezeway, sighing when he realized the next place to check were the outside bathrooms and that honest to fuck scared the shit out of him. He one hundred percent believed the story that there was a ghost haunting the toilets and actually slammed the seat down on a kid’s dick who preferred to pee in the stall rather than in urinals and sent him to the hospital.

Ashton said it was the ghost of a kid from the sixties who would get picked on for doing the same thing, pissing behind closed doors. He eternally resided in the pipes and showed himself whenever some freshman had the balls to test the theory of the infamous boy’s haunted football field bathroom.

Michael slowly made his way over, stray pebbles cracking under his shoes. He grabbed the dirty handle and pushed his way through the doorway, just a bit. It was dark and smelled like para-blocks inside. “Calum?” He called, he didn’t really sound like himself . “Ash?”

Silence.

Michael drug his eyes all over the bathroom layout one more time before he backed off and let the door fall shut.

“Where the fuck are they?” He grumbled, kicking a rock under the bleachers and ambled along with his heavy arms swinging lightly by his sides.

He stepped in the cluster of trees where a clearing was located, often times kids hung out there to smoke or make out during class and all that cliche stuff, he’d check there, even though he despised fighting his way through all the thorny plants and potential bugs waiting to fly into his face with their legs elongated. If they weren’t anywhere to be seen he was going to give up his hunt and go lay down on the bleachers, he was in dire need to relieve the pressure off his ankles and elevate them to get all the blood out his purple feet that were throbbing in his tight shoes.

“Calum.” He sing-songed. “Oh, Calum? Ashton...anybody here?” Michael stood in the middle of the clearing and peered through all the tall green trees, leaves fluttering and loose branches swinging so that muddled creaking sounds surrounded him. It was beautiful, but mostly creepy as the sun was falling into the horizon.

Just then, he heard a single giggle, a distant one that was a bit breathless and quickly followed by someone else’s. He recognized them and stumbled towards the source, stepping over a massive log and an unofficial dirt path lead him to a roundabout, at the center was a cluster of thick, old oak and tall grass that reached his mid calf, he decided he didn’t need grass stains on his pants so he remained along the outer perimeter and investigated at a stand still. He heard Calum and Ashton’s voices, and then, a flash of a white sleeve. Michael would have just called out their names by now and he wasn’t too sure why he hadn’t, it’s just odd for them to be alone in a woodsy area at dusk away from everyone, giggling instead of pulling each other into a headlock and messing up one another’s hair, he kind of wanted to evaluate the situation before he interrupted, his mind argued that it wasn’t very wise of him and could possibly uncover his best friend’s secrets about being werewolves or something.

Michael only had to walk a few feet to his left until he saw around tree he assumed they were leaning on, and low and behold, there they stood, as clear as day though it was approaching night.

Michael’s heart did something funny then, it felt as if it was in an iron grip trying to beat. He struggled to catch his breath as he blindly felt for something to hold himself up with, his finger tips found the rough surface of a trunk and he pulled himself toward it for support.

Calum - god fuck, that was _Calum,_ he couldn’t believe it...even though yeah, whatever, it made a lot of sense - had his hands tangled in Ashton’s messy previously-slicked hair, cradling his head, tugging at his roots. They were pressing their lips together gently, moving slow and mellow, holding each other under the leaves as if the world was frozen still around them, and there were the only two moving in real time.

Ashton grinned when Calum pressed their bodies impossibly closer, he bit his lower lip playfully and pecked his cheek, his jaw, trailed his lips down the brown skin of Calum’s throat and Calum took at as an invitation to take handfuls of Ashton’s huge jacket and bracket is legs around Ashton’s leg. Ashton wrapped his lips and teeth around a small patch of his skin right beneath his jaw, suckling on it with intent making Calum whimper and gyrate his hips against the meat of his thigh.

Michael had seen too much, his throat felt like he tried swallowing a golf ball and stomach burned as if it was being ringed out like a wet towel. Well, that was it then, they had each other, it’s not just in his head anymore it’s real right in front of him, mixed with laughter and love bites and soft moans and whispers, exclusive, intimate, he didn’t belong here.

Michael sometimes felt like the two of them had favorites, and that they were one another, but he swallowed it down like a horse pill. There was a bond between them that was unlike the CalumandMichael and the AshtonandMichael ever since they were kids. A magnetism he couldn’t even try to duplicate or stand in between without being shattered in the center by the weight of their forces pulling together. He could pretend all he wants that that wasn’t how their trio worked to hide the sting of rejection from his two favorite people but it was displayed ten feet in front of him against an old fucking tree.

He didn’t want either of them in that way, he didn’t want to kiss them on the mouth and hold their hand and call them baby while fucking them, they’ve always been his brothers. He wanted a kind of love and devotion equivalent to theirs, platonic or not. He was jealous and he felt disgusted with himself, clenching his fists behind a damn bush watching them like a peeping tom, a single hot tear spilling over his cheek all because he was deathly afraid that his illness would hold him back so much that not a soul out there will want anything to do with him and now, everything is going to change between them. His best friends had the heat of flames on their palms as they touched one another and Michael’s were cold and trembling, trailing up his chest to feel his piece of shit heart hammer so hard he could feel it through his shirt.

He swallowed dryly and searched the ground for anything he could tumble over and made a beeline in the first direction that came to mind.

His legs felt like limp noodles, unable to hold the weight of his body up for much longer if he didn’t make it to a seating area soon. Michael pushed his way through branches and ignored the sting of a thorn jabbing his calf.

“Shut up.” He told his heart, raging so loud like it was angry with him.

Michael was gasping by the time he found the side gate again, as if he had to hold his breath through the woods or his body would fall apart. He scrambled to get in and move towards the bleachers and sprawled out across it not caring who was watching.

The cool metal felt like heaven against his ruddy cheeks, like a kiss from an angel. He let his heavy eyelids flutter shut and concentrated on breathing in for four seconds, holding it for seven, exhaling for eight. Over and over until his heart recognized that he was finally weightless and horizontal, the colors behind his eyelids muddled down and settled into a dark brown and a exhausting wave rested over him heavy, causing his shoulders to untense and his legs to relax now distant itself from their previous aches and pains.

He remained still and lost in his head for a good five minutes before he heard voices from the field. “You’re friend he uh, almost broke his face flopping down on the bleachers earlier. He okay? Is he dead?”

Michael opened his eyes to a chocolate colored clouds and group of people staring at him curiously, Calum’s brows were stitched together and Ashton was uncomfortably rubbing at the back of his neck.

Michael managed to raise a hand up and wave and Calum tutted and walked over.

“Mikey are you okay?” He squatted down so their faces were level, he ran a chilled hand over his forehead and bored into his eyes with the most concerned Calum look he’d ever seen. “The guy’s are telling me you rushed to lay down earlier were you on your feet too long?”

He tried to ignore his kiss swollen lips. “Yeah, just standing around waiting for you guys, guess I wasn’t paying attention before I started hurting so bad I had to lay down.”

“Fuck I’m sorry babe, I… like me and Ashton were in the bathroom you know I had to take a shit and needed him to tag along, those stalls are haunted you know…”

Michael closed his eyes, choosing to let the lie wash over himself so that maybe he’d believe it. “Mhhm.”

“M’here now though, what do you need? Water? Drive home? I’ll do anything for you.” He said sincerely, thumbing at Michael’s eyebrow, it made him melt a little, there was no fucking way he could stay mad at this kid for long.

Mad, no. He wasn’t mad, all that was left was sad, deep in his chest, the one person he goes to for help was now the one he wanted to to turn away from so that he could clear his head properly. “I’m alright, can we just go get pizza now?”

“Oh, uh. About that.” Calum bit his lip and turned to Ashton who was keeping his distance staring sheepishly at the ground. “I lied to our parents...didn’t think they’d say yes if I told them were actually gonna go down by the train tracks.”

“We’re what?”

“Um, Bryce also has booze...I know you can’t drink, and I don’t really feel like it either to be honest so you and I, sober buddies for life having fun watching everyone else get piss drunk?”

Michael felt something that deeply resisting this new information, telling him to ditch and go home to the comfort of his bed and sleep like he so desperately needed to, wallow on his own sadness against the pillow and throw his brain in the washer in attempt to get the vision of Calum getting hard for Ashton out of his mind. That’s what he wanted, not to go sit on a hard bench in the muggy hair and watch drunk idiots play chicken with a train, it’ll most likely end up like an angsty Young Adult flick where someone gets killed and the rest of the group never talk to each other again but always have that connection and then the town bans dancing or something like in Footloose. Fuck no, he wasn’t going, it sounded like an awful time in which he’d hug himself in the corner all night while everyone else circle jerked, honestly pizza and Dr. Pepper would have been way more fun and now he’s pissed.

“Dunno.”

“I _promise_ you I won’t leave your side, okay. I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” Michael answers so quietly, surely Calum didn’t hear him.

“What was that Cliffo?”

“Fine.”

***

Not fine.

These people were fucking insane.

A tall redheaded guy, Clark, Michael had learned, was an outright pyromaniac and poured all the whisky out of a seven-fifty milliliter bottle to make an image of a dick resting between a pair of boobs before he took his lighter and lit it on fire.

Michael sat frozen on a nearby bench watching them clamber to put it out with their jackets and feet, Ashton looked like he was about to give birth as he watched Calum chuck a flaming garment off to the side and demand somebody get water from their car immediately. Michael didn’t get within spitting distance of Clark for the rest of the night after a shoe and a couple jackets got sacrificed for titty fucking flame art.

Just as Michael suspected, he was curled up by himself ten minutes after they arrived. He opened up his shirt to allow better airflow through his plain white one underneath and slumped against the wood planks, blinked through the bright fluorescent bulbs illuminating a good distance in front of him.

People were making out and taking big gulps of clear brown liquids, laughing about things Michael didn’t understand, he smiled at Calum though, playing the role of mom and cutting people off when they had too much or reprimanding others for thinking it’s oh so hilarious to lay on the tracks, or mess with Ash because he was a sensitive emotional drunk. He cried numerous times just because someone kept flicking at his earlobes and running away when he looked over his shoulder.

When Calum trusted his group of immature bumbling idiots a little bit more he waltzed over to Loner Michael and left less than an inch of space between them when he sat down. “Now that we’ve almost become burnt shish kabobs and watched Jason pee in a bush, you ready to have fun?!”

Michael gave him a tight-lipped look and shook his head. “I really wanted pizza.”

“Oh come on! We still haven’t gone out to explore Mikey, ignore all these idiots they’re only here because we made plans last week and I didn’t wanna bail, I also didn’t want to exclude you.”

Michael frowned a little and looked down at his hands. “You know you don’t have to invite me to everything, it’s okay.”

Calum rolled his eyes. “I tell you about stuff because I _want_ you to come, duh. I need you. Everyone else I talk to, save from Ashton, they’re just people to me they’re like extras hired to be my friends for a film, I get along with them easy enough but I still feel detached and weird around them. Everything sucks without you man, you’re my best friend, I don’t care if you can’t keep up with all them, sitting here, talking to you, moving at your pace beats watching Clark slide his hand under his girlfriend’s dress and hearing her weird ass ostrich moans any day. Trust me, just need you and curly cry baby over there and I’m set for life.”

Michael felt a warmth spread through his chest, the corners of his mouth lifting into his cheeks as he leaned against him rested his head on his shoulder, nuzzling in close like they’d been doing since they were little. Personal space wasn’t an existing term in their dictionary. “Yeah.” He said, it was all he could think of.

He felt Calum press his cheek against his hair and his hand rub his arm comfortingly, it distracted it him from his idol thoughts that were so insistent on taking over his mind earlier, maybe he could just let them go completely, Calum was too squishy to pull away from, and the words ‘I know about you and Ash, I’m jealous and destined to die alone even though there are bigger things to worry about than my non existent love life’ were too difficult to say. So he said something else. “She really moans like an ostrich?”

Calum hummed and then made deep guttural noises from his throat, imitating her sounds, Michael grinned against his shoulder. “How does that go again?”

He did it again with a little more gusto, craning his neck and making a wing with his right arm. Michael hid a few breathy giggles in his shirt and leaned his entire weight on his friend, too weak to keep himself up while he watched him bob his head like a bird through his watery eyes. “I don’t think they make that sound.”

“Wha- I shit you not they do! Don’t give me that look, they do. Oh my god I can’t believe you don’t know what an ostrich sounds like.”

Michael grinned and rested his head on his thighs. “Show me some proof then because that sounds like something you just badly improvised.”

He sighed and lifted his butt to grab his phone from his pocket before thumbing through it to pull up Youtube. “It’s time to educate and embarrass the shit out of you then.”

It turned out Calum was right and Michael owed him a handjob in twenty years if neither of them were dating or married to someone else, he added that to list of things he had to do for lost bets, right beside making his child’s middle name Calum regardless of their gender.

For the next hour Calum pet Michael’s hair and made low animal noises whenever Clark and his girlfriend passed them on the bench, they casually glanced at a railroad sign each time they turned their heads and drunkenly stumbled off.

 

The rest of the night was going fine, he was never abandoned unless either of them had to go pee in the rocks or Calum had to save someone from hurting themselves like a parent had to rip scissors from their running child’s hands. He lounged lazily on small bench on his human pillow and they watched plenty of funny Animal Planet videos and fought off moths that were swarming to the light hanging over their heads. Despite that he was tired, hungry, sweaty, and worried for Ashton’s uncle’s suit getting ripped up, he was great.

But great things never lasted for long for him.

At some point Ashton fell heavily towards them and got a hold of his footing before he face planted onto the train platform, his tie was loose and his shirt was untucked, hair askew and his hazel eyes vibrant under the light and against the pink surrounding his irises. He was a flushed drunken mess and Calum got all weird and tense when he approached them. Michael didn’t like it, his thigh was now hardened and way less comfortable to rest on.

“Guys.” Ashton hiccuped. “There’s a train a’ comin’.”

“So what.” Calum paused their video of baby monkeys falling off of branches. “Sit down, you’re making me nervous swaying like that.”

“So,” He drug out the ‘o’ and looked toward the ramada above them, “We’re gonna chase it as far as we can before we reach the creek up ahead, you in?”

Running. Michael was immediately subtracted from the equation, he hasn’t ran at his potential full speed since elementary school and he can’t even speed walk without taking recovery time, there was no way in hell he was gonna chase a huge train going sixty miles per hour until the creek a half mile up ahead. They both knew that, but then again maybe Ashton wasn’t even talking to him.

Michael expected Calum to scoff and call him a fucking idiot, tell him he promised he’d stick with Michael all night and wasn’t leaving his side to do something as pointless as chase a speeding train. He was going to tell Ashton to sit down, relax, puke if he needed to, watch videos with them and call it a night after a couple, ditch this cluster of strangers that were probably a couple seconds away from having an orgy and then, they’d drop Michael off, and he could finally lay on his massive cloud like bed and sleep for a month or so.

That’s what he thought was going to come tumbling out of Calum’s mouth, but it didn’t.

“Yeah okay.” Calum cocked his head to the side curiously, a smirk finding its way to his lips. Michael’s stomach sank. “Only cause I wanna see your ass biff it in the first couple feet, bet you I could make it farther anyway.”

They both fell quiet after that, Calum raised his arms to rest on the bench behind him before he pressed his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

Ashton gave him a look, one of those looks Michael didn’t like acknowledging, it made him want to leave the two alone and not come back for a few hours, or ever. To think he was the only reason why the weren’t kissing right then, if he was long gone they’d be all over each other. It made him feel bad all over.

Ashton placed his hands on his hips and breathed out a threatening laugh. “If that’s what you think than get your lazy ass up and test the theory, train’s close. Can you hear it?”

Calum turned his head and listened for the faint rumbles increasing in volume. “What are we doing here talking shit then?” He abruptly slinked his way out from under Michael and set his phone down on the bench. Michael laid there emotionless, the wood was warm from Calum’s ass, which was kind of gross.

“What’s so exciting about running after a train exactly?”

Neither of them looked in Michael’s direction, they peeked over down the track and when they saw the train they smiled at one another. “Alongside one.” Ashton corrected. “Because it’s fun, gets your adrenaline pumping and we’re bored as shit.”

“We all doing this?” Calum asked the group, guys were taking off their jackets and girls their heels.

“Why the hell not. Drunk as a mother fucker and I’m hoping to make it inside a boxcar, become a stowaway, join the circus?” Jason chucked coat to the side and a girl slapped his arm, telling him her better not try to make it inside one and it isn’t funny to joke like that.

No one acknowledged Michael, the one guy who couldn’t join in, Calum didn’t even apologize for wanting to ditch him without hesitation as soon as he peered into dreamy bloodshot hazel eyes. He was done for.

Sure they’d be back soon enough, but it’s about the principle of it all. They’re leaving a disabled guy alone on a bench at nine thirty at night with no one around but that stray cat he thought he saw earlier, and Calum was ready to drop everything as long as it was Ashton who was making the proposal.

It was stupid, Michael was irritated, but he didn’t speak up, not even when they all got on their marks and waited for the train to come close enough before they got their head start and ran.

He laid there, watching a cluster of idiots over exert themselves to keep up the box cars, feet thumping against the grass and clothing blowing back in the wind.

“Hey pink hair!” Michael flicked his eyes up and blinked at a boy who was straying behind, close enough that Michael could still hear him if he yelled. “You uh, you aren’t coming?”

Michael only shook his head, unable to speak over the sounds of the wheels and metal churning to make the train fly along the track. He backed up a little, giving him one more unsure glance before shrugging and jogging to catch up with the other.

At least someone noticed that they were abandoning him.

Michael spent the next half hour staring at the box cars and the graffiti cluttering the sides of a few, until they ran out, until it was dead quiet save for the wind rustling the tall grass, and after awhile, the first raindrops of the day hitting the roof of the ramada and dampening the pavement. He laid there curled up, hoping the smaller he could make himself the better he could hide away, then being worried if he was significant enough to people wouldn’t matter then. That sounded kind of nice to him.

He just wanted to go home, but it was never that simple. Michael always had to wait for the person who was able to drive to have a free moment, and when they finally did it was a process to leave, avoid motion sickness and body cramps, then once home, try and make it to his bed successfully. He wanted to teleport right then, if he squeezed his eyes shut and clicked his heels he’d be there.

That never worked.

Michael was a half hour away from his bed, overheating, panting, growing increasingly angry towards his best friends the longer he waited, like a nasty sticker bush it filled the space inside him, poking him internally. He fumed as much as he could before it exhausted him all together.

***

Michael hadn’t realized he fell asleep until Calum was shaking him awake, red cheeked and soaking wet. Michael groaned and closed his eyes at the bright bulb shining behind Calum’s head. It felt like a coal miner was trying to pick axe their way out of his head. Now he was really fuming, he didn’t even have to be half-conscious of his body for him to know his symptoms were full blown from head to toe, his stomach was swirling and his feet felt fat, heavy. “Fuck.” He whimpered.

“Michael I am, so sorry.”

He ignored him, took a deep a breath, and attempted to sit up by getting a tight hold on the metal armrest and drug his heavy body into a sitting position.

“Mikey.” Ashton called over Calum’s shoulder, he sounded a lot more sober than, when was it, an hour ago. “You need to slow down.” He warned.

The incessant throbbing throughout his entire _being_ told him the same thing, he was not meant to get up this quickly, his body wasn’t made for “hopping up and jetting out”, he was fragile, he would shatter if he wasn’t careful. Those qualities, and the fact that he was a person who loved to literally _run away_ from issues did not mix well. But he wasn’t about to wait for ten minutes until he could stand up to dramatically storm off, it wouldn’t have the same effect.

Calum moved in front of Michael, trying to get him to make eye contact but Michael clearly refused. “Michael you have every right to be upset with me, I had no clue we were going to be gone for that long I tried to haul ass back here I just-”

“My body hurts I wanna go home.” He interrupted him. His eyes were focused on his feet, flat on the concrete, when he blinked he had four instead of two.

“Okay, okay I’ll take you home but just hear me out. I don’t want to drive you when we’re on bad terms-”

“It doesn’t matter what you want I feel like I’m being stabbed repeatedly with a hot spike, take me home now.”

Calum’s eyes widened, he looked the most sorry he’s ever looked in his entire life, and he once lit Michael’s leg on fire in the fourth grade. “Michael, fuck.” he choked, he sounded like a kicked puppy, it hurt him but he wouldn’t succumb to the act this time. “Please listen to me I was halfway there when I remembered our promise and I felt so fucking _awful_ that I left you just laying there on your own when I swore I wouldn’t leave your side and- and then it started storming I…”

“You didn’t turn back.” Michael chided. “You kept going, even after you had your realization, for what?”

Calum tightened his jaw and shook his head, tearing his eyes from Michael’s and blinking at the ground. “I…”

“Cal.” Ashton spoke, he looked frazzled, dirty, exhausted but not in the way Michael was, where he could sob his eyes out for a bed and a pillow at that point. Ashton looked exhausted by something that was putting too much weight on his shoulders. Like a burden, a secret. Calum turned his head toward him hesitantly, looking up at him with sad, wet eyes.

It was then when Michael noticed it. 

A hickey, one that hadn’t been there before he left, was fresh and dark and prominent on his damp skin, just behind his ear, like it’d been made not thirty minutes ago.

His stomach flip flopped before he could gather why they hadn’t come back for him, giving each other a tongue bath had been more important.

Michael pushed himself up, a new fire under his ass helping him ignore the pain and stumble past them. He gripped either side of his head and groaned, applying pressure on his skull while he made his way towards what he hoped was the parking lot.

“Michael stop, stop, let me help you!” He heard feet racing behind him, then hands on his arm, holding tight to keep him upright. Michael nudged them off attempting to show that he was mad but it was the weakest shove he ever gave in his life.

Michael’s vision faded in and out and all he could see was blurry, pivoting walls that were supposed to remain still, shifting lamp posts, vibrating stars, the vague shape of Calum’s face, his mouth opening and closing and sound coming out. He felt a hard wet surface on his back, he was being pressed up against a wall, held up by his armpits.

“Michael come on look at me, you’re scaring me shitless please.” He trembled. The various shapes Michael saw sort of melded together eventually, he regained enough focus to make out Calum, panting softly, his eyes were wide and his pupils were blown, his thick brows stitched together.

“Home.” He breathed out.

The group was a few feet away, all of them staring at him warily and Ashton was over on the bench, face in hands. Michael’s cheeks heated up.

“Okay.” Calum agreed immediately. “I’m, I’ll take you home now I’m so fucking sorry we just lost track of time by the creek, Ashton and I- like, we were just talking and stuff.”

Michael huffed in disbelief but mostly sadness, he was lying so poorly it was hard to listen to, it hurt more and more the longer he ran his mouth. Michael grabbed his wrists and pried him off. “You know what? No, m’just gonna walk home, don’t follow me.”

He didn’t know where that came from, walking this distance to his house was the worst possible thing he could imagine, a personalized hell, but he was already stumbling towards the main road and his pride was too big for him to turn back and play it off as a joke, even in his pained vulnerable state in which he would legit suck someone’s dick right now for water and a pillow, he wasn’t going to turn back.

“Yeah very funny Michael!” He heard Calum chuckle, but when he didn’t turn back he ran and darted in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “Whoa whoa you’re not serious are you? Are you insane?! No, I’m walking you to my car.”

“Get away from me.” Michael warned.

“Jesus what the fuck I’m sorry okay! I know I’m the world’s shittiest friend that doesn’t constitute you trying to walk home it’ll take three fucking hours to get there, you’ll kill yourself, stop you’re not thinking straight. Stop walking!” He bellowed.

Michael shoved him, properly this time. “I said get away from me!”

Calum got a hold of his footing and didn’t bother fulfilling his request.“My patience is wearing thin Mikey, quit acting like this.”

Michael snorted. “Oh I’m so terrified of what you’re gonna do if you _snap_.” He raised his hands in the air in mock terror. Calum stopped walking altogether, causing Michael to ram into his shoulder, he hissed in pain. “Fuck.”

“You have every right to be pissed at me, I told you that, but I’m driving you home whether you like me or not right now, what kind of person would I be if I let fucking a dysautonomia patient trek hours to their home in the rain when I have the chance to stop their little temper tantrum and drive them myself.”

Michael’s fingers twitched at his sides, his chest was heaving, stomach stirring unpleasantly. “ _Temper tantrum?_ ”

“What else am I supposed to call it there’s no reason for you to be acting like this!” he cried. “And you can’t...you can’t blame it on the fact that I left because two seconds ago you were fine and then all of the sudden you were storming off basically threatening suicide, wanting to _walk_ home.” He scoffed. “What made you go from irritated and in pain to _this_?”

Michael ignored him and hit his chest up against Calum’s to get him to move, Calum, unexpectedly, hit his back with the same amount of heat behind him. “Michael I swear to fucking god.”

Michael grabbed his forearms attempted to push him but Calum was stubborn, struggling to stay put. “What are you gonna do? You gonna throw me to the ground?” He panted into his neck. Calum squeezed his waist roughly, surely pressing bruises into his skin.

All of the sudden Ashton was rushing to Calum’s side, yanking him back by his dress shirt and then slotting his way between them and speaking lowly into Calum’s ear, Michael couldn’t hear it over his own breathing and was far too distracted by Calum’s darkened eyes peeking over his shoulder, almost solid black now, onyx blazing intensely searing into Michael’s pink skin.

Michael looked down, it was painful to stare back in the eyes of someone he felt like he was letting slip through his fingers because of his own insecurities, his best friend, who for the first time in forever he was getting physical with because he was a loose cannon when it came to something like this, this was the last thing he wanted to do but it ended up being his first instinct, getting so pissed at him that Ashton actually had to separate them.

But, Calum was a liar. Calum left him, Calum didn’t turn around because a boys mouth was more important than how bad Michael was aching on that bench, he talked about how him wanting to walk home was suicide but he was perfectly okay with taking his sweet time at the creek and letting his friend suffer in his own skin.

Michael sidestepped the two boys, determined this time to get as far away from them as possible. He walked out from under the ramada and into the rain, his hair instantly soaked and flattening on his head, pink beads of water dripped off a couple strands hanging in his face, his shirt clung to his body and he felt like he was suffocating.

“Aye!” Calum screamed, but he wasn’t bum rushing him this time. Michael peaked over his shoulder. Ashton had a strong hold on his shirt, a vein was popping out on his forehead from how hard he was straining to hold him back and Calum was squirming like mad, whimpering like an animal trying to break free. “Get the fuck back here!”

“Calum.” Ashton spoke.

“No fucking let me go are you crazy you’re just gonna let him walk miles and miles he can barely walk ten fucking feet in school without needing to take a break! Let me go!” He sounded like Michael had never heard before, it was terrifying, hearing his voice get to that level, raw and angry, the whole sight had Michael’s heart beating wildly, stomach turning concave until it was bottomless.

Ashton slinked an arm around his waist in favor of holding onto thin material. “Unclench your fists, are you kidding me? Who are you? Unclench them Calum, what’s your goal to break away from me and go punch him?!”

Calum ignored him completely, still staring off at him with fire in his eyes. “Michael piss off, you’re such an irrational _toddler,_ I can’t believe you! _”_ He snarled.

Michael snorted and opened his mouth, of course he didn’t mean to say it, but he was halfway through the sentence before he realized the fury building up within him finally burst and he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. “That’s nice Calum, why don’t you go take your frustration out by fucking Ashton hard in a forest somewhere, then you can easily forget all about me! Right? It’s happened before!”

Calum abruptly stopped wiggling around and stood there in shock, mixed with something more, with the truest form of hurt and confusion. He thought he heard Ashton whisper “shit he knows” into Calum’s shoulder when he dropped his head down, but he couldn’t quite hear over the constant heavy taps of fat rain drops hitting the ground. “ _What?_ ” His throat sounded tight, he slumped his shoulders, seemingly exhausted now, like that was the final blow.

“Goodnight!” Michael called without remorse, on his way to the main road once more.

“You know what, fuck you! You’re- you’re uninvited to my banquet!” He called meekly, it was childish, unnecessary, like he’d tried to get the last wound in even though both of them knew Michael won, Calum was scrambling for something to sting him with.

If he was honest it did sting a little, though he couldn’t even go anyway, that soccer thing meant the world to him, he invited those who meant most to him and he made sure Michael was the first to know, got the first invite, his was the only one wrapped in a proper envelope with his name written in Calum’s messy writing on the back and kiss face beside it. Calum’s eyes had been so bright, his smile huge causing his eye crinkles to deepen, run softly down his plump cheeks.

Michael never wanted to see him sad again after that, but look at where they were now, he was furiously wiping away tears, limp in Ashton’s arms, anger melted at his feet and all that was left was remorse and helplessness.

Michael began to walk slowly down the road, feebly replying, not exactly wanting to be heard. “Couldn’t go anyway, had a camp thing, was gonna tell you.” He didn’t turn around to gauge his reaction, it was physically impossible and fuck he wanted to _leave, take the subway, go far away from here._

“Calling your mom Michael, doesn’t matter how far you’ll walk she’s- she’ll see you on her way here.” He said just above a whisper, Michael had to strain to hear.

He continued on with heavy feet that felt like blocks of lead, determined to make it to the subway ten minutes through the city nearby and ride it to the San Valley hill before he was spotted.

***

Surely he was dead and the person melding in with the massive crowd at the subway platform was only a ghost of him, he died when he tripped over that massive trunk while passing through the small woods area, or maybe it was when that biker skidded past him just barely and his messenger bag hit him hard in his already sore belly. Or he died on the bench that he had to sit on for a few minutes underneath a large LED billboard advertising a cash loans place, and some guy beside him sprawled out on the concrete and set up an entire KFC dinner on the space beside Michael and offered him a chicken wing. He declined, but gratefully accepted a bottle of water, chugged it in three minutes, and channeled the powers of Christ or whoever to be able to stand on his feet again. He most likely died when he skipped through a small bit of traffic illegally and jet down the grimy gum cluttered steps heading underground and saw people were in the process of boarding the very subway he needed to be on, so he ran as fast as is poorly made body could allow him and mixed in with the sea of people, crowds made him want to puke and panic and faint but his adrenaline was running thick and vivaciously through his veins and all he wanted to do was step on and sit, for the love of fuck he wanted to marry and make love to a chair on their wedding night, he wanted to sit so fucking bad.

When Michael was finally on board he staggered almost theatrically to a hard plastic orange seat, placing his ass in the concave of it and slumping down victoriously, he could sob his eyes out right now, every emotion within him was raging like a messy hurricane, ripping up everything in it’s path and flooding things he so desperately wanted to keep buried, allowing them to float to the surface and making him feel vulnerable in one of the most public places on the planet. His hair was moving on his scalp, his teeth hurt and his tongue itched, he could taste the sounds of the subway, see them floating through the air, bright and harsh saturated. Every smell was so strong he wanted to throw up onto his thighs from sensory overload.

He pressed his forehead on the cool metal pole beside him and heaved a little, he probably looked like an outright psycho, dirty and wet hiccuping softly whilst curled in a ball and blinking away from the bright fluorescent above him, like it was the lights of heaven and he was supposed to reach up and float towards them.

Oh, he was most definitely dead, and the person everyone was staring at right then from their seats was a ghost.

He swallowed hard past his tightening throat and blinked at people, wiped his wet eye with a knuckle and kept his gaze floating around until it locked on a boy.

A boy, sitting to his left with floppy blond hair, in a baggy Bruins jersey and tight blue jeans, holding a rose between his fingers, was staring at him with such curiosity Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if during this time he shape shifted into a rare sea creature that resided in the abyss of the ocean, and was just flopping around casually on a subway seat.

The boy looked about his age, soft, careful, a warm glint in his doughy adolescent looking eyes, Michael hadn’t realized he relaxed under his stare, caught his breath a little and his throat had loosened slightly.

He stared for what must have been five more minutes, a weird light feeling spun over his head, like he was listening to a pleasant song. He bit his lip and fisted his slacks in his hands, attempted to focus on something else while his heart did back flips and he tried to figure out why the fuck he felt so fucking weird, until the boy leaned forward, and Michael almost shit himself when he pressed his elbows to his thighs and opened his mouth.

“Aye’uh...you don’t look so good friend.” 

His voice was maple syrup, slow, smooth, boyish and kind, running thickly off his tongue and making it’s way into Michael’s ears like a soothing elixir, it made his eyelids flutter. The boy had an accent, he was from the northeast, Michael guessed, and based on the yellow and black hockey jersey draped over his broad shoulders, the boy was from Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry it took nine years lmao  
> tell me what you thought?!? talk to me on [tumblr](http://lukemichael.tumblr.com)  
> check out my unfinished [spotify playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/boyvibe/playlist/5KACgilp4IW0MgRa2TUd0u) for this fic and the crappy [fic edit](http://lukemichael.tumblr.com/post/152412257836/paracosm-by-lukemichael-on-ao3-pairing-michael)


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